Vignettes of the Fellowship
by AilciA
Summary: Short stories and vignettes that give an insight into the fellowship and how they interact with one another. Some are stand alone, some are continuous, they show the little bits of friendship and otherwise that we don't get to see. not slash COMPLETE
1. Frodo: Ferocious Warg

Frodo: Ferocious Warg  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ The fellowship was preparing to move on; the nine companions had to travel by night and the hazy dusk of the late afternoon had recently settled into a cool evening, the stars just visible behind their dark veil of the oncoming night.  
  
Each of the representatives, at least one of every race that walked upon Middle-Earth not under the sway of evil, were busy with their own intentions and thoughts - Aragorn was scouting the edges of the camp, keen grey-green eyes, practised by long years as a Ranger, scanning the dark trees that surrounded them for trouble as he prowled. Gandalf was smoking his long pipe contentedly, deep in thought, his midnight-blue eyes pensive, bushy eyebrows twitching. He was absently blowing smoke shapes: rings, castles, stars, ships and the such, the smokey-blue clouds shimering, matching his well-worn robes prefectly.  
  
Legolas was merticulously sharpening his long white battle-knife with a whetstone and smiling rather smugly; the elven prince had been triumphant in the most recent battle of wills and wits with Gimli, forcing the stout little being to grudgingly acknowledge the Wood elf's victory, no matter how much the dwarf appealed and what he said to deny it. No doubt the incident would be dragged up in the inevitable arguments the pair were bound to have when the company next stopped, and, probably, whilst on the march as well.  
  
The dwarf himself was now huffing and muttering to no one in particular about stuck-up elves, packing away his bedroll as far away from Greenleaf as possible. Sam Gamgee, the burly hobbit gardener and friend to all, was pottering about the site, tidying away the meal things and humming a jolly tune to himself, and Boromir of Gondor was sitting in an amused silence, slightly apart from the group, as he watched the simple yet incredibly interesting scene of two young and rather headstrong hobbits bickering with each other, as he pretended to polish his shield.  
  
Though extremely cautious and wary of all species other than his own, the son of Denethor was getting to know and become friends with all in the fellowship, whatever their race. Boromir was in complete awe of the elf - he marveled at the seemingly perfect creature, the fair prince with deadly skills, yet a thoroughly kind and honourable being - and Gandalf the wizard commanded certain respects, though Boromir's father no longer held him in as high esteem as he used to. The Steward's heir had first viewed the stunted creature as all sturdy leather boots and no chainmail, no matter how bold-hearted Gloin's son bellowed to all that he was, though recently Boromir had had some friendly conversations with the dwarf and was getting to know and like him, if but slowly. But hobbits persisted in fascinating and continuily surprising him almost as much as the elf did. The way they spoke with each other, they're incredible and seemingly endless eating habits, their grooming, the perculiar way they did perculiar things, their hidden strengths... everything.  
  
He had gathered thus far from listening to the debate before him that the halflings' predicament was a simple one - Meriadoc and Peregrin wished to wake their elder cousin, Frodo. The gentle young hobbit was, for once, sleeping peacefully; he'd curled up in his bedroll after his meagre breakfast and no one had had the heart to bother him thus far. The long, ebony curls poking over the top of his blanket were the only thing that alerted Boromir that a halfling actually lay slumbering beneath it. The cousins wished to wake Frodo, needing him to answer a very important question they had concerning pipeweed - as he was, of course, a fountain of knowledge for them to utilise - the problem was Merry and Pippin did not wish to be punched as a consequence of waking him. Their cousin, apparently, liked his sleep... a lot.  
  
"Well, go on then, Pip. Wake him up," Merry said in a forcefully cheery voice - all high-pitched and false, as if there were no problem at all, as if Pippin were about to wake a meek coney instead of a ferocious warg.  
  
"Me?" The younger hobbit looked positively horrified, and with good reason. "You know what Frodo's like about his sleep. I've done this before, you know, well... you were there, actually - he nearly broke my nose! And my father didn't even say anything to him about it, not once did he get told off! I know he'd do it again, whether asleep or no, but this time especially, he'll thump me one! You do it, you're older." Then Pippin's face brightened momentarily, and he continued in a lower, conspiratorial voice, "He always liked you best anyways; you're older, closer to him than me. I just annoy him, with my 'incessent chatter and nonsense', as he so rightfully calls it. You are whom Frodo really comes to see when we're together, you are whom he travels away from his beloved Bag End for. Some sensible conversation, not just my idiocy."  
  
Merry glanced at him askance, a slight smile quirking his slack lips, "Flattery will get you nowhere, Peregrin. And Uncle Palidin thought you needed 'straightening out', that's why he said naught to Frodo," he said scornfully, though completely unable to mask his amusement. But then he frowned again, thinking hard, and after a while - "Mayhap we could.... chuck water over him? And we can run away really fast, away from here, anyroad, and... and he'll never know it was us! And he couldn't hit us, there'll be no proof!" Poor Merry is desperate, Boromir realised and chuckled, it was starting to show in the calibre of the plans he had thus far thought up. And the young one better hadn't talk much louder, he thought, lest Samwise hear him and do the striking instead of his Master.  
  
"No," Pip dismissed the idea with a wave of his small hand, "we won't be able to deny it properly as he'll be all wet and someone must've done something to him - no one non-Hobbity would have, and Sam certainly wouldn't've done it, and even if he had, Frodo'd forgive him in a flash of a frying pan." Silence again, Peregrin's face, red freckles and all, was screwed up with concentration and Merry was biting his bottom lip, then... "I've got it!" Pippin's sparkling green eyes lit up suddenly, "We can pinch his nose! That always used to work; he never sleeps with his mouth open and he never wakes up straight away anyway, so there'll time to run for mushrooms... and he won't hit us because he'll think he woke on his own! It's the only way... a-and besides," the hobbit stammered, trying to justify his actions, "he'll thank us for it eventually."  
  
Boromir snorted behind his shield; he severly doubted that. Frodo really did not get enough sleep anyhow - he was always checking everyone else was okay and content before he laid down for the day, and even when he did sleep, he was plagued with such strange dreams that he did not get a full rest. Boromir had watched him tossing and turning many a time on his watches, and, concerned, had spoken to Gandalf of it. The old wizard had apparently noticed the difficulty too as he had nodded deeply and pursed his lips, and had not seemed surprised.  
  
While normally being a very pleasant, charming and well-mannered hobbit whom Boromir liked very much, Frodo could become rather irate when he was pushed and sleep-deprived. Pippin had been suppressing quakes of barely- controlled fear after his cousin had last exploded, and even Boromir had been taken aback by how fierce the serene little hobbit could suddenly become. Of course, Master Baggins always apologised after he snapped, and always strove to make it up to the company members involved afterwards - that was just who he was, and Boromir was thankful they had such a Ringbearer.  
  
The Gondorim watched carefully from under lowered eyelids as the other two halflings began executing their plan. Merry had eventually, after much delegation between the pair, been elected to perform the said nose- pinching, as he was older, and anyhow, as Pippin himself had pointed out, was *far* more experienced at it. Boromir got the impression that this was the sort of thing that happened a lot in the hobbits' eventful lives back in... the Shire was it? He had heard from Gandalf, Aragorn and Legolas, who had all visited or at least skimmed the edges of the halflings' land, that it was a haven of peace and quiet, of green trees, winding creeks, happy little farms, jolly pubs and freshly-tilled earth. Boromir would've liked very much to have known the hobbits before the quest, just so he could see how they interacted in their own enviroment, and hoped that one day he could visit this shire of theirs himself. Also, he wondered if all hobbits always spoke with phrases and references towards food, or whether Lord Elrond of Rivendell had landed them all with exceptions. Though Boromir expected the former.  
  
The Took was watching out for Aragorn, Legolas, Gandalf, and most importantly, Sam, who would all try to stop the twosome from exercising the necessary actions for the goodwill of all the fellowship and, indeed, for Frodo himself. He wasn't a very good look-out, Boromir noted with a smile; as he kept glancing back over his shoulder to see whether he should be running for his life or not.  
  
Merry crept over to his peacefully sleeping cousin with all the stealth of an oliphaunt and, ignoring the urge to sweep the chestnut-brown curls that had fallen into his chestnut-brown eyes away, he reached out with a shaking hand. Boromir held his breath; Meriadoc was so close that if the young Baggins awoke now, all would be lost, including, most likely, Merry's front teeth. The Brandybuck's tongue was wedged between his pursed lips at the effort, he placed his slender fingers gently over the nostrils of Frodo's long nose, and pressed.  
  
Nothing happened for a time, and Boromir was beginning to doubt the effectiveness of this apparently brilliant plan when Frodo suddenly started to choke. The poor hobbit was making such a horrid gagging sound as he tried to breathe in through his blocked nose that Boromir seriously considered getting up and going to help him, Frodo's back arched and his arms flew up in a violent frenzy in order to ward off whatever was causing him the acute discomfort, and Merry quickly released his hold with seemingly impeccable timing and ran. Pippin followed flame-of-Smaug hot on his heels, and they sped over to the other end of the camp as fast as their little legs could carry them, hoping with all their hearts that the plan had worked and they would be spared from the wrath of the Baggins'. But it was too little, too late; Frodo's winter-blue eyes snapped open suddenly, blinked his long, black lashes and unfortunately, through the fog of his still-sleeping mind, he caught sight of his cousins' fast-retreating backs.  
  
Boromir tried not to laugh, he really did, but he could not help himself; who would have thought Mr. Baggins could go from horizontal to vertical in such a short space of time? All he saw was a brown, green and red blur, granted a very tired and groggy brown, green and red blur, but a blur nonetheless. Frodo literally flew past him, arms waving like a windmill's sails, long curls bouncing up and down, forest-green cape billowing behind.  
  
The brave-hearted warrior of Gondor decided he could not bring himself to watch the guaranteed ensuing devastation, but a succession of cries and pleas for help, loud laughter, sharp yelps of pain and snatched sentances going something like - "That's the way to do it, young Master Baggins...", "...Put them down...", "Mr. Frodo, don't you need any help?", "Frodo, you'll hurt him!" and "... Fool of a Took got what he deserved, I expect..." forced Boromir to drag his golden-brown eyes up away from the perfectly-buffed and polished sheild to see the result of the fight. This time he did laugh out loud.  
  
Frodo was sitting on top of his two cousins with his arms crossed, looking tired and grumpy but relatively pleased with himself. His once-smooth black locks were sticking up in all directions, in a quietly-sleeping-then- suddenly-windswept sort of way, and his clefted cheeks were red and shiny, but he seemed to glow with satisfaction. Merry and Pippin's faces were shoved against the ground, and their arms were pinned behind their backs, with Frodo making his seat on the immobilized limbs. Their yellow and brown tweed waist-coats were now filthy and no one could really make out what they were saying as the mouthfulls of mud and dirt they had hindered their abilities to voice their own opinions of the situation and their rather uncomfortable positions, but they didn't sound happy at all.  
  
Samwise looked pleased, the wide grin plastered over his face made it obvious to all that he was exceedingly proud of his master. The gardener himself had privately thought that the two masters had needed a good seeing to, as they were getting rather too obnoxious for their own good. But Sam had lacked the position, authority and bravery to do it - his master, however, did not. But the young Gamgee kept sending slightly fearful glances Gandalf's way, sure they were all going to be rebuked for the light entertainment and that the wizard would call them all 'foolish twits' again and scold them.  
  
Gandalf, however, was far too busy trying to look stern to catch the glances. The wizard was failing miserably at maintaining his serious expression - his lips kept twitching at the corners as he tried to suppress his smile, sending quakes of mirth down his long grey beard. But it was obvious he didn't have a problem with the incident as his deep, midnight- blue eyes had the light of the stars in them as they twinkled merrily. Aragorn was looking down and shaking his head, shaggy dark locks falling over his weathered face, amused but extremely disapproving of the whole situation. His large hands moved to settle on his lean hips as he then raised his eyes to the heavens to request from the Valar suibtable mercy and, indeed, the patients, to deal with the problem. He then returned his gaze wearily back to the odd hobbit-shaped pyramid.  
  
Legolas had an perculiar expression on his fair face - he was smiling of course; an elf was not one to miss humour in any situation, but he was also obviously concerned and rather distressed for the well-being of the halflings Frodo was currently sitting upon. It was well-known in the fellowship that Greenleaf had a soft-spot for the periannath; he was always talking with at least one of them, finding out about their lives and geneology - he was extremely interested in anything to do with them and was an avid listener. Boromir chuckled as he knew that Legolas would sit, cross- legged like a enthralled schoolboy, and gaze up at whichever hobbit was perched on a stone, relaying stories to the elf for hours on end. The prince of Mirkwood was currently teaching all the Shirefolk practical things like archery, efficient fish-catching, the different sorts of birdcalls one might need to know and how to climb trees. He regularly saved Merry and Pippin from each other as well as Frodo and Sam, and the elf was often the go-between and messenger in the small disagreements the foursome often had.  
  
It was strange for Boromir and apparently hilarious for Gandalf and Aragorn - who had both known the prince for a long, long time - that Legolas, a mighty elven prince and ferocious warrior, respected in all circles, was at the beckoned call of these creatures less than half his height just because he liked them and found them interesting and funny. Obviously, Greenleaf was teased endlessly by his best friend as the Ranger had never seen anything like it before, and was positive he would never again. His friend was so proud and stubborn, to have him fetching things for and amusing the hobbits would seem like insanity, that is, if one didn't know the elf properly, for who he really was.  
  
Gimli, surprisingly, had yet to mention it. Though it is probably because he likes the hobbits too much to comment, Boromir guessed correctly.  
  
That night's particular dilema made the prince almost seem to grimace as he moved forward to try and relieve his two fallen comrades of the, granted small, weight of his other short friend. And no small wonder, Boromir thought dryly, Gimli was laughing deeply, hand on his ample stomach as he slapped his knee with the other.  
  
Boromir mirrored Aragorn and shook his head, trying desperately to look mature, though anything resembling having pride in oneself had fled from the camp with the arrival of one Meriadoc Brandybuck and one Master Peregrin Took. Denathor's son went back to polishing his battle-sheild so that it shone it's brilliant red colour proudly, reassured that Legolas, the Diplomat-in-all-things-Hobbitish, would help all of the halflings up from the ground and send them to their respective ends of the camp with a disapproving frown and a hearty wink for good measure. 


	2. Aragorn: Lord of Impeccable Timing or ...

Aragorn: Lord of Impeccable Timing or Legolas: Ranger-Killer  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Frodo was extremely amused.  
  
He found himself in the rather demanding process of avidly watching two of his companions very carefully. And had been for a couple of minutes or so. ~Well I never~ Was his final conclusion on the whole scenario as he turned to Sam, for the gardener was also watching the pair, mirth near-dancing in his deep-brown eyes as he sucked thoughtfully on his pipe.  
  
"To look at them, and if you didn't know better, you'd think they were simply a couple of hobbit-lads, wouldn't you?"  
  
"Aye, Mr. Frodo," Samwise muttered, shaking his head and not taking his eyes of the two, smoke unfurling itself from corners of the grin his mouth currently found itself in. "That's a strange thought, though, make no mistake," he added, taking a draw from his pipe once more.  
  
"It is, rather, isn't it?" Frodo's mouth quirked and he turned back to the rather attention-grabbing scene. For the two halfings were not watching two hobbit-lads - one might guess from such a comment that they were observing Merry and Pippin in their usual display of endearing immaturity. No, as strange as it may seem, the two halfings were actually captivated by the sight of Strider, a rugged and battle-weary ranger of the North, and Legolas Greenleaf, a prince of Elves and famed warrior, many millenias old, childishly shoving one another with the intent of knocking the other over.  
  
It had started out simply enough, Aragorn and Legolas had been walking side by side, talking with each other - who knew what about, something obscure no doubt - when the man had stumbled over a loose rock upon the path, knocked into his best friend and had clung to him as he attempted to right himself once more. The elf, mayhap in jest - for it was always hard to tell with Elves - percieving this as an invitation for a fight, had pushed him back, so as the ranger had stumbled in the other direction, almost falling once more. Aragorn had swiftly retaliated, knocking the Legolas back a few steps with a heavy hand to the chest, and so it had continued. The pair kept walking onwards, not holding up the company in any way as it traveled, and didn't seem consciously aware of what they were doing, for it seemed instinctive that they try and out-do one another, as they both kept their eyes ahead, just reaching out with a strong arm every now and then. It was almost as though the two would forget for a while, minds on other things, then, when one remembered, there would be a sudden bout of shoving and pushing, which would then subside and so on.  
  
At the minute, a rare bout and the one that had caught Frodo and Sam's attention, it seemed as though Aragorn was winning, he managed just recently to push Legolas so the elf nearly caught himself on a jutting piece of stone from an outcropping of rocks they had been walking by at the time. The elf had swiftly retaliated, knocking Strider back several paces with a well placed blow to the sturdy shoulder - and the two hobbits observing percieved that it was now Aragorn's due turn in this eccentric duel of pushing and shoving. They awaited to see what would happen. ~Strider is the only man who would ever be able to challenge an elf in such a way~ Frodo thought rightly he knew the ranger had been raised among Elves, and that he and the prince of Mirkwood had been friends for an exceedingly long time, but still... Elves were the Firstborn, and if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, Frodo would not believe that any elf, especially Legolas Greenleaf who was always so dignified and graceful, would engage in such a sport. ~Then again~ he mused ~It's pretty fun to watch, and I'll bet my mushrooms that this isn't the first time it's happened~  
  
Aragorn now, it seemed, had decided that enough was enough, and it was time to put an end to the whole thing. He gathered himself together, and with all his might, hurled his whole body towards his Elven-friend in the hope of throwing him to the ground and triumphing.  
  
Legolas merely side-stepped to the left.  
  
*CRACK!* Aragorn hit the boulder that they were walking past with full force, face-first. "Oh, Valar!" Frodo cried, and he raced to the scene of the accident, Sam following closely behind, pipe forgotten. They reached their companions before the rest of the fellowship even realised what was going on - Strider wasn't moving. Frodo hauled the ranger onto his back with difficulty, and gasped. There was blood flowing from his long nose, and deep cuts decorated the unconscious face. Frodo patted the cheek of his friend, trying to gain some kind of response, but nothing would bring back the northerner from whatever place his mind was. The gentle-hobbit glanced up at the elf in shock, to find Legolas gazing down at his best friend, fair head on one side, as if puzzled. "You've knocked him out," Frodo stated, his voice taking on a barely accusatory tone, his wide, winter-blue eyes fixed on the warrior.  
  
"So, it would appear," Legolas muttered, still seemingly perplexed by the string of events, a single crease showing between his fine brows. "He does this a lot," he added as if to reassure the hobbit, eye flickering to Frodo and then back again.  
  
Sam, who had also been patting the ranger's cheek, looked up, astounded, "How many times have you done this, Mr. Legolas?"  
  
"Oh, a fair few," the elf replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Though, you realise, it is not my fault, well. not every time. Estel is well known also as the Lord of Impeccable Timing between those Elves who know him, and is always running into things, falling over, knocking people down, at the most unfortunate moments. it's a habit of his," Leoglas said almost sadly as he looked down at the inert figure of his best friend, shaking his head with amusement.  
  
By now, the rest of the company had been alerted to the disruption, and had turned back rather quickly, they now all arrived in a gaggle. "What happened?" cried Boromir, golden-brown eyes darting everywhere around them in search of something that might have attacked the northerner, striking him unconscious, ever wary of their surroundings. Pippin and Merry were staring, open-mouthed, at their still friend still in a heap upon the stony ground, Gandalf was frowning, and Gimli looked very confused under his flaming-red beard.  
  
"Legolas knocked out Strider," explained Frodo to the bemused fellowship succinctly, and watched as all the pairs of eyes swivelled towards the elf, who had looked up coolly as he heard his name being spoken.  
  
He raised a slender golden brow, and stepped away from the body, one pale hand shaking a long finger, "Nay, nay, nay, I am taking *no* blame for this one. it was his own fault, I had nothing to do with it." he placed a hand upon his heart sincerly, "I am no ranger killer."  
  
"Oh? And I suppose he just ran into a rock of his own accord, did he Master Elf?" growled Gimli, exaggerating slightly his anger at the company's unexpected stop and wishing to ridicule the balsted elf in front of everyone and score a point of the fair-one's pride.  
  
Legolas' eyes hardened immediately and flashed bright green, as he himself exaggerated bending his neck down to talk to the dwarf, who fumed at the recognisable silent-taunt. "Actually, Master Dwarf," he put such an accent on the word 'dwarf' to make it sound something distasteful, something to be spat out, "He did. My witnesses, if they'd be so obliged, can confirm this for me," he looked imploringly to Frodo and Sam, who studiously looked away, not wishing to incur the wrath of Gimli, as they knew would well be roused if either took sides.  
  
Gimli merely grunted darkly as Gandalf stepped forward, "There shall be no need for a trial; you shall call no witnesses, Thranduilion." He let his midnight-blue gaze wander down to his dark-haired friend, still slumped on the floor at their feet, "We must, however, stop now, it seems. Get him up and into a more comfortable position." He smiled slightly, beard twitching, as he looked to Legolas again, "Seeing as he did aquire this unfortunate injury in your presence, Dian Las [Little One, a nickname of Legolas' since childhood], I give the task of lifting and carrying to you." He turned away in a flush of bluey-grey robes, about ready to lead them to a safe resting spot.  
  
Legolas rolled his eyes and muttered, "Aren't I the lucky one," as he hefted his best friend on to his narrow shoulders with surprising ease, much to the amusement of Merry and Pippin who happened to be standing nearby, still gawking at Aragorn.  
  
Gandalf, his sharp ears having picked up on this without hesitation, turned and looked back, trying not to smile beneath his beard, and scolded amiably, "As I remember it, Legolas, the Lord of Impeccable Timing aquires most of his unfortunate injuries in your presence. now, I wonder why that is," the innocent tone of his voice made Merry and Pippin snort, as well as the jeering name for the ranger.  
  
"I have no idea," the elf replied smoothly, the picture of calm, "And it is through no fault of my own if the heavy lump is too clumsy for his own good, even for a Man," Legolas groaned, his calm visade lost; the weight upon his shoulders impeding his ability to speak and draw breath effectively.  
  
Merely a few days previous, Boromir, who was walking ahead of Gandalf now but still well in earshot, would have taken this a major slight against his race, and would've confronted the Elven warrior about it. But now he merely grinned, shaking his head in amusement; the friendships he had formed quickly in the fellowship, may it be between man, elf, wizard, hobbit and even dwarf, had opened his eyes to other cultures. and the mocking insults bantered about between the company, especially between Legolas and Aragorn, were a part of daily life to him now. ~Besides~ he thought, justifying his own thoughts ~they are very amusing~  
  
Merry piped up, walking near the back, "I am guessing this is pretty regular for you, then, Legolas?"  
  
"You have no idea," the elf moaned. "You know, I think he likes me to carry him everywhere, he gets himself worked over so often, usually with inanimate objects, might I add."  
  
Boromir turned his head and grinned, "One would have thought you would have built up some muscles by then, elf," he called, not unkindly.  
  
Legolas rolled his eyes and wearily declared, "I could snap you like a twig, Steward," he said, his tone suggesting he had laid down this claim many a time before. The Gondorimm just chuckled and turned back as they came to an adequate clearing. Legolas thankfully, and none too gently, relieved his load, and set about arranging the ranger's limp arms and legs around him as the rest of the company, thankful for the unexpected break, sat down.  
  
"That was quite a blow," Frodo came up beside him, still concerned for the welfare of their absent friend, though Aragorn looked a little better now with all the blood cleared away from his face. There were still some hefty bruises beginning to appear, and the gentle-hobbit guess Strider's nose would be so for a few days yet.  
  
"I can assure you it is nothing worse than what he has had before," Legolas' blue-green eyes twinkled silver. He stood, stretching his aching back - his friend's not-inconsiderable weight having jarred it. "Walking into doors as someone has opened them from the other side, running into roads only to be hit with oncoming horses, falling down elf-holes that someone has only just removed the cover off, throwing snowballs at the exact moment my father stands in front of me. the list goes on... it is something he is well-known for in the House of Thranduil."  
  
"Really?" Pippin piped up from the other side of the clearing, the others had all been silent, even Gimli who now looked faintly amused, as they listened to Legolas ranting, "But he always seems so sure-footed all the time."  
  
"He is not," was all Legolas could say with a shrug. It was at that precise moment that Aragorn chose to wake up and deign them with his company, the rest of the fellowship dashed to him and the ranger was greeted with the sight of eight eager faces as his misty-grey eyes opened slowly to a crack, blinked a few times, opened fully and finally focused on them all. "Hurrah, he *is* alive," Legolas cried triumphantly from his upside-down postion in Aragorn's eyes. "Three cheers for the Lord of Impeccable Timing!"  
  
The merry cheers that followed could be heard by every creature inhabiting the rock plain. 


	3. Boromir: Unexpected Spirit Healer

A/N: Thank you to all my reviewers, I can't say stuff individually to you all because I am sure you want to get on and read the story, but I will say this to Daisy Brambleburr, who I have decided is now my unofficial-mentor, I've tried harder with the spelling in this one - usually I'm in such a rush I forget to spell properly, so I apologise if I still don't have it down.  
  
As for Aragorn's character in the last chapter, I wanted to show that he and Legolas have a deep friendship, one that's lasted for a long time and has a lot of light in it. I also wanted Aragorn to be shown how I see him, sure he's a brilliant ranger and soon-to-be King, and is world-weary, but I just thought that, away from immediate danger, and in the company of his friends, he is less suspicious and prudent all the time. Like, if anyone has seen the extended version of FOTR, Boromir is teaching Merry and Pippin sword fighting, he hurts Pip accidentally, and Merry and Pippin bowl him over. Aragorn gets up to aid his fallen-friend, saying 'Gentlemen, please..' Merry and Pippin grab his legs and pull them out from underneath him, and he lands rather ungracefully on his back. I like that bit and wanted the essence of it in my story. If I didn't quite pull it off then I'm sorry, but the intent was good!  
  
In this chapter, things get a tad darker, but it's just preparing you for stuff that happens later. Obviously, there is no actual story line, but I didn't want to let you think it's all humour (although the majority is) because we know there were rifts and the fellowship were preparing themselves for almost-certain peril. so. but read on! This is amusing, and I find myself liking Boromir the more and more I write of him.  
  
Anyway, 'nuff said, read on, Macduff!  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Boromir: Unexpected Spirit-Healer  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
A miserable gloom had settled over the remaining company, each was avoiding the others' eyes and answers to questions were clipped and cool. The negative energy flying about the air between them could almost be tasted, cut with a knife. Something had to be done.  
  
"Aragorn?"  
  
His back tensed; and though the ranger usually knew his boundaries, at that moment Aragorn was unsure if he could speak civilly to the dwarf just yet. He normally had no problem with Gimli at all and actually liked the stubborn, sturdy little creature a lot - though he would admit to no such thing in front of the others - but this time the son of Gloin had gone way too far. And everyone knew it. Instead of ignoring him, though, as he believed he *ought* to do, Aragorn took a deep breath and turned his head to look at his sharp-tongued companion and face the matter head-on, and was surprised to find not only the very uncomfortable-looking dwarf but the four young hobbits and Boromir as well, all waiting anxiously for him to speak. He raised a dark brow in question.  
  
Frodo Baggins of the Shire stepped forward as if on trial, his hands clasped firmly in front of him, twisting his long fingers awkwardly. "Strider..." he started, his large blue eyes framed by dark lashes searching the ranger's face, "We are sorry to disturb you."  
  
Aragorn smiled slightly, dear Frodo - always so polite and well mannered, wouldn't hurt a fly unless it had insulted one of his friends, so like his uncle in that way. And he *did* insist in calling him Strider. Aragorn didn't really mind, the hobbit was fast becoming a good friend of his, and anyway... Legolas called him much worse, and he was Aragorn's best friend.  
  
Frodo continued cautiously, "But... we should like to know, I mean - if it is not too much trouble, nor too personal - w-why did Legolas act like that?"  
  
The travel-weary dunedain had known this conversation would crop up eventually, it was only a matter of time after Gimli's barbed insult had struck a bullseye in the elf's heart. His friends weren't demanding the reasons why, as Aragorn had known they wouldn't, but they did have a right to know - they were all in this fellowship together, however unlikely that seemed at times. But that didn't mean Aragorn was going to make it easier for a certain dwarf with a wicked temper and an apparently cruel spirit. "Reacted like what?" he asked innocently, shrugging and turning back to his pipe.  
  
Meriadoc now spoke up, "Well..." he spoke hesitantly, biting his bottom lip as was his wont in such delicate situations - Pippin had obviously been instructed not to talk at all; for he looked fit to burst, bright red in the face. "Legolas looked so upset... as he should have been." The young Brandybuck directed this pointedly with a sharp glare at Gimli who at least had the decency to look downwards in shame, face flushing to the same flaming red as his beard. Aragorn felt a slight triumph flare in his heart; for the others in the company were giving the dwarf a hard time - they obviously felt bad for their now-absent friend, and wished to know how to make Legolas feel better. Though the ranger was unsure whether they could do anything, and even if they could, firstly came the matter of where to find the elf - Gandalf was already out in the forest, looking, but when an elf does not wish to be seen...  
  
"A-and..." mumbled Samwise, stepping forward hesitantly, "We don't want to make anything worse for him, Mr. Strider, when Mr. Legolas comes back, by saying the wrong thing, if you follow me, sir..." The gardener decided to leave out the ominous *If he comes back...*  
  
"Do not fret, Hobbits of the Shire," Aragorn comforted, "'twas naught to do with you..." the ranger glanced at Gimli, who was still looking down at his sturdy leather boots. ~And so you should, Master Dwarf~ he thought, slightly angered by the son of Gloin's silence. "Though, I do not believe you shall be able to help Legolas aught *when* he comes back..."  
  
"W-why?" Pippin ignored his warnings and now stepped forward, eager to know. His curiosity in all things to do with his Elven friend was more pressing than both of his cousin's actions would be after. He purposefully looked away from Merry's glare, keen green eyes completely intent upon Aragorn's weathered face. For he was sick and tired of not being told anything - he was the youngest and that, apparently, intitled him to no rights or say whatsoever. ~Which is downright mushrooms~ he thought indignantly. His temper flared all of a sudden and he added angrily, "Now, see here, Strider. We wish to know why our friend reacted in such a way to Gimli's remark - and it is *not* because we are a gaggle of nosy Bracegirdles from Hardbottle. No, indeed! We just do not wish to unintentionally hurt Legolas even deeper when he returns, and we think the best way of preventing this is if we know *all* the facts. And *I* do *not* think that is too much to ask!" He stood there, fuming. His hands were placed firmly on his hips, his large feet rooted, and his small chest heaving.  
  
Aragorn was momentarily stunned by the tirade that had just been launched, but he quickly recovered himself and answered smoothly. "I do not think you are a bunch of nosy Bracegirdles from Hardbottle... Whatever that may mean - I assume the worst." He smiled slightly, "I was merely taking a moment to gauge whether it was my tale to tell or no."  
  
Pippin, for one, looked abashed, but then his natural Tookish-curiosity about all things unknown took over once more, and he stammered, "A-and... have you? Decided whether it's your tale, I mean?" He held his breath expectantly, as did all the hobbits, as if to release it was to make Strider immediately refuse them.  
  
"Aye, I'm sure our Elven-friend will feel relief that he is not the one to confide such a thing to you all - for he knew it would come sooner or later. And he will feel better that you all know *when* he gets back, without him having any part in the re-telling." The company, even Gimli, crowded round the ranger and listened, and the northerner began, "Legolas' family is a large one, with all the usual quarrels and rifts that go hand- in-hand with the joy and love of such a thing. Samwise, I am sure you at least know of which I speak, as do you Mr. Brandybuck," Aragorn paused to smile at the blushing hobbit-gardener and his friend. "What I am, none-too- eloquently, trying to say is that though there are many family members and arguments, I have never seen a kin closer... and I know them very well." He paused and sighed. "But, alas, I fear this closeness is borne from a personal tragedy." He smiled fondly, though a little sadly, as he looked up and saw the fellowship completely enthralled, eyes wide. Even Boromir and Gimli were anxious to know what this tragedy was, and how they might make amends.  
  
"The tales say that the Queen of Eryn Lasgalen, Leinnia, was an altogether beautiful creature - like dawn breaking over a calm sea - in both physicality and spirit. Her heart was the largest and most pure of her kind, and the grace and gentleness of her nature astounded all who had the pleasure and honour to meet with her. Her curled hair was spun gold, her laughter was music to all who heard it, her eyes were a deeper green than any lagoon could boast and her smile could melt the coldest of icy hearts. She was the Queen of the Sunrise - I am told Legolas is his mother's child and I, for one, can see it clearly." The hobbits nodded furiously and he chuckled, it warmed his heart to know how much the halflings cared for the elf, though they knew him such a relatively short time. He continued, more quietly, "She was a wondrous being... and it was a fell blow to all the lands when her spirit was captured and reigned in."  
  
The listeners gasped and looked at one another almost comically - Aragorn would have laughed had the circumstances not been quite so grave. Pippin, not the one for ever holding back, even whispered aloud, "However could that have happened?"  
  
Aragorn answered his question by saying, "As most of you will know, Mirkwood is home to far more than Elves. Dark things creep and scuttle in it's depths, evil lurks... it was this evil that is the cause of such pain for the House of the Oaks. Giant spiders roam through the forest, causing devastation when they choose to eat... for the largest of their kind prey upon Elves. *The* largest, a hideous creature known as Gangemar was the most feared, for though he ate rarely, his feasts were the subject of Elven urban legends, frightening tales told to young elflings around campfires. Queen Leinnia... encountered this brute while travelling with the King, and though the Elven-warriors present managed to drive the creature off by attacking him with all their might, using well-trained arrows and spears, a giant spider's hide is not easily broken, and the damage was done. His insidious poison infected the enchanting Queen. I shall not go into too much detail, but I will say that her death was neither quick nor peaceful, she was taken back to the palace of Mirkwood, *everything* was done for her... to no avail. The King and his family were forced to watch their most beloved die before their eyes.  
  
"Death is painful to those mortals who are left behind who are so unfortunate as to encounter it - but to Elves... grief is truly, truly unbearable. For they are immortal, and are blessed to walk upon the worlds for all eternal times, and to have that gift, so lovingly disclosed, cruelly ripped from them, is most heinous. Legolas himself fair nearly died from heartbreak, and was mortally ill for a long, long time - I thank the Valar that he was not also taken away from this world as well for not only would I not know him, and therefore, myself, be dead many times over..." Frodo half-smiled at this comment, for he knew only a portion of the stories and was yet greatly amused by them. "But the Royal family of Eryn Lasgalen would have been destroyed, and their light would've faded from this world by now if that had come to pass... A long time ago the Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien bade me to look into her mirror, when Legolas was gravely injured by orks near the realm and actually upon the brink of mortal death for a time, and I saw a world without him, and...." Aragorn stopped abruptly and looked down, his memories too painful for him to continue. He gathered himself together and cleared his throat, "I thank the Valar that he was not also taken," he concluded.  
  
"So, you see now," he gazed at the fellowship in turn, "why such a comment from our Master Dwarf, here, might wound *any* Silvan elf from that particular Woodland realm - and other districts, also - let alone the last born child of the subject of the joke!" Aragorn's voice was now risen, and Gimli looked downwards once more, shame and self-disgust pouring off him. The silence that followed was broken by Gandalf the Wizard entering the half-hearted circle with a frown and a shake of his head.  
  
"I found him," he stated, "Barely, but I cannot seem to reach him. His eyes are turned towards his homeland, and he hears nothing of this world." He fixed a midnight-blue eye upon the dwarf, yet no one there present was able to discern the nature of the stare; so stoic it was. "But, I think he will heal, given adequate time and the appropriate sensitivity... even from his apparent enemies. We shall camp here tonight, and wait for his return, for I think he merely needs to ride out this bout of emotion, and no, Aragorn," He smiled, anticipating the question he knew the ranger was going to ask. "I don't think you going to find him would help him much at all. It's best you stay here, lad." Aragorn closed his mouth and the wizard settled his old body upon the ground, and set about filling his pipe with the intention of smoking it, obviously not wanting another word on the subject to be spoken.  
  
Everyone quietly got up in silence and began to organise the camp. Sam began to get out food for everyone, making sure that there would be enough left for Legolas when he returned, though as a rule, Elves did not eat much, and Legolas most especially. Frodo sat with his suddenly subdued cousins, who did not feel much like causing trouble, joking or even talking much. Aragorn continued smoking his pipe, his misty-grey eyes staring off into nothing, and did not question when Gimli sat himself beside him, needing the company urgently.  
  
Boromir stood awhile near the edge of the trees, thinking deeply. He knew what his heart was telling him to do, and wished deeply to do it, but he hesitated as he had no idea how to make such a thing happen. His golden gaze rested on the area in the brush Gandalf had battered his way out of and, making his decision, strode towards it. The company did not ask a word of him as he left the circle, and he made his way through the undergrowth.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
He reached the spot easily enough, Gandalf's withered staff had beaten an obvious pathway through it, so all he had to do was follow the route until he reached a tall and intimidating beech. Knowing from conversations with Greenleaf that the beech was the Wood-Elves' favourite and most loved tree, and seeing no other tracks leading from the small clearing beneath it's leaves, he decided that his friend must be concealed somewhere in the branches.  
  
Fully aware of the fact that when an elf wishes to remain hidden, an elf will remain hidden to all - even other firstborn - and feeling rather stupid for performing the action anyway whilst fully aware of this fact, Boromir looked up the trunk of the tree. ~By Gondor~ he thought, surprised ~I did not expect that to be so easy~ for there was Legolas, sitting in the crown of the tree's trunk, right at the top, but making no effort to conceal himself. Boromir straightened his tunic with intent and squared his shoulders, then grasped the closest limb with both hands and hauled his not- feather-light weight up. He swung one leg, then the other, up and around the branch, and hung for a while, upside-down, merely contemplating at length upon the strange path his life had taken him down recently, all the friends he had met, all the peril he anticipated would be coming soon enough, and also how the pretty, upside-down world flushed red around him when he hung upside-down for too long. He realised with a start that he had been hanging upside-down for too long, lost control of his arms, and fell to the forest floor with a heavy thud.  
  
He got up valiantly, determined not to be bettered by a tree - an elf or ranger, maybe, but he drew the line at an inanimate object defeating him - and pulled himself up once more. This time, when he managed to sit on the topside of the branch, he reached up for the next one, slipped, and then reached up again. He made his way up slowly through the tree, making as much noise as a heard of wild oliphaunts, injuring himself on the rough bark, sharp twigs and knife-sharp leaf edges. Not many trees grew in or around Gondor, and even if they did, a warrior most certainly did not climb them - he wondered once more of the strange ways of the Elves and how, to them - Wood-Elves especially - tree-climbing was a necessity, almost like breathing, to be taken advantage of whenever possible.  
  
Finally, wheezing slightly at the unfamiliar exercise - Boromir's body had not been stretched in such a way in quite some time, for a warrior very rarely finds the necessity of stretching upwards to it's fullest extent in the midst of a battle - he reached the crown of the tree, and the slight figure sitting in it. He was saddened to see the elf's narrow shoulders hitching slightly with silent sobs, and he reached out a large, comforting hand and rested it lightly upon the nearest one, turning his friend around to face him. He expected to see tears upon the fair cheeks that faced him, or at least pain present in the good elf's face, but no, Legolas was laughing. Hard.  
  
"Legolas!" he cried, completely confused by the eccentric elf's actions, "I thought you were upset! I came to make you feel better!"  
  
"Aye," the elf managed to gasp, "And I am positive you would have done a very good job at it, if you had not made quite such a fuss in getting up here to do it!" He fell about with laughter once again.  
  
Boromir was actually stricken dumb, he opened his mouth to say something, anything, but found himself speechless. Tried again. nothing. He was about to attempt it a third time, but he realised belatedly that he just looked like a fish out of water, adding to Legolas' amusement, and he clamped his mouth shut firmly, most unamused.  
  
Legolas merely laughed some more, until he realised Boromir did not share his mirth. "What?" he asked when he had finally stopped laughing, confused by his friend's demeanour.  
  
The son of Denethor glared at him, brown eyes taking on a sullen gleam, "Everyone is really anxious about you, Pippin and Merry actually silent for once, Aragorn worrying himself away into a stick, the dwarf feels terrible, and you are sat here, having a grand old time!" His voice was loud, and a few non-descript birds flew from a neighbouring treetop.  
  
At the mention of Gimli, Legolas' fair face hardened, and silver shot through his green eyes like lightening. His voice rose to match Boromir's, "Do not speak of him to me! I owe him nothing and do not care how he feels, for he brought it upon himself."  
  
"Maybe, but I suspect he is truly sorry," the Steward's son paused before continuing, choosing his words. "Aragorn has. told the fellowship of the reason of your distress."  
  
At this, the elf's usually proud shoulders slumped once more, and an air of complete defeat seemed to cling to him suddenly. He looked downwards, playing with the hem of his green tunic. His shining, golden hair fell over his shoulders and covered his face like a veil so Boromir could not tell what expressions passed over his face. He finally muttered quietly, "I am glad. For I would not wish to talk of such a thing."  
  
"Aye, the ruffian indicated it would be so," Boromir said, in an off-hand tone. He gained a half-smile from the elf, at the description of Aragorn that Boromir had apparently taken a shine to, for he used it often, surpassing all necessity. And Aragorn himself was not best pleased about his new nickname.  
  
"Hey," Legolas objected softly, still not looking up, "That's my best friend's name you're besmirching."  
  
"Aye," Boromir grinned, happy that Legolas was at least partly playing along. "You want to make something of it?" he challenged, as he so often did in these conversations with the elf.  
  
Legolas merely smiled weakly, which was not usual at all for him; he usually made some - rather hilarious, even for Boromir - witty remark about the incredible speed of humans, or the size of their feet or something. He looked up and his green eyes wandered the floor of treetops, and settled upon the horizon to the Northeast where, as the Steward's heir had learned recently, his homeland lay. Boromir gazed in that way also, and they sat in a companionable silence for some time. Presently, Legolas stirred and, not taking his eyes off the setting sun, turning the sky pinks and yellows, he murmured wistfully but with a strange gentle pride, almost to himself, "You know, they called her i-tari fe i-amrun."  
  
Boromir smiled, deciding to ignore the fact that his friend's deep voice had cracked slightly with saying this and a single tear had hit his own hand with a light touch, and stated truthfully, in the same soft, wistful voice, "I have no idea what that means, but I am sure it is very nice and gratuitous."  
  
That made Legolas chuckle, "It means the Queen of the Sunrise. it fitted her perfectly; she was very beautiful," he indicated so with his bent knees, arms crossed and resting lightly upon them, as if to point them towards Boromir was supporting that fact.  
  
"My mother was also, in heart and all," the man said gently, hoping to let his friend know that he was not alone, but he couldn't help adding a bit of humour, "And I do hope you are not threatening me with your sharp kneecaps, for they are quite formidable and I do not believe I am as yet up for the challenge." He batted them away, turning Legolas inadvertently in the opposite direction.  
  
Legolas laughed out loud at that, a short, melodic burst of mirth from his soul. "I imagine she was so, pity you got your father's looks, then." He swiftly avoided the cuff to his head the man from Gondor threw at him. He chuckled again and looked fondly at Boromir, evaluating him with bright green eyes, "You know, for a man and all, you are not so bad."  
  
"And the same to you, Master Greenleaf, for an elf, any road. but that is not saying much." He smiled when Legolas did, and leaned in comfortably when the fair head rested lightly upon his broad shoulder. They both looked at the horizon, simply enjoying each other's company, for they had swiftly become very good friends, surprisingly so. And it warmed Boromir that Legolas trusted him enough to lean on him, and vice-versa, without any uncomfortable feelings passing between them.  
  
Legolas, not lifting his head from Boromir's shoulder murmured something which he thought needed to be said. "Al vie-u hadul mellon." And Boromir smiled, eyes crinkling, for he knew just enough elvish to know what Legolas had called him. He had said, 'You are a true friend.' And Boromir was proud to be named so. They stayed motionless for some time, both smiling faintly.  
  
At length Boromir reluctantly said, "I suppose the others will want us back, and Samwise will be fretting about our sup. come on, Mighty Elf, up!" He made to stand, realising belatedly just how high up they were, and a dizzy sensation overcame him suddenly.  
  
"It is okay," Legolas, already standing and who obviously had a head for heights, grasped Boromir's elbow, and helped him to his feet. "It is merely head-rush, it will pass." And he held on to the man until it had, and Boromir was eternally grateful for that.  
  
However, he was not about to show it, "Elves," he snorted, shaking his head and easing his way down the tree trunk, clinging to it for dear life, whilst Legolas flitted lightly down from branch to branch. "I am sure many of them, by rights, should not be able to hold your weight, elf," he groused irritably.  
  
Legolas laughed merrily as Boromir finally reached hard-ground, "Boromir, it must be said, you are the most unexpected spirit-healer. You should take it up as an occupation, for you have made me feel light of heart when I thought I could not." He clapped the man on the shoulder, conveying more than just mirth, it was a deep thanks for the company Boromir had given him, and muttered absently, "You might even surpass Aragorn in such a thing."  
  
Boromir glared at him, but his golden-brown eyes were warm and full of humour, "I think you'll find, Greenleaf, that I surpass Aragorn in pretty much everything anyways."  
  
"And I think you'll find, Denethorion, that I surpass you in pretty much anything, so."  
  
Boromir laughed, slung an arm around Legolas shoulders in a one-armed hug that should have been awkward, but was surprisingly not so and together they walked back to the waiting company with Legolas saying, "Merry and Pip were silent, you say...?" 


	4. Merry: Of the Stunted Bladder

A/N: Warm thanks to all who reviewed my last offering. I, as a rule, did *not* like Boromir one little bit when reading the book... but seriously, that bit in the film really makes me chuckle and I wanted to do something like that in my story. It's strange, I really like him now... and completely agree with Mirkwoodmaiden in her review... I like him when he's like that as well!  
  
Incidently, everyone should read Mirkwoodmaiden's current story (forgotten the title, but just click on her name in my reviews and you'll get it), it's really rather good and if you like this, you'll *love* that.  
  
One last thing, Sirith - don't forget that I have pitchforks and eagerly await *your* next chapter.  
  
Anyway, enjoy... ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Merry: Of the Stunted Bladder ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Gandalf, please! I truly believe that it is truly right and fair that we stop *now*!"  
  
The wizard answered wearily without turning around, "For the last time, hobbit! We cannot pause in our travels yet; if we fall behind now, at the most crucial stage, we may never make the time up." Gandalf tried to reason with the young halfling, but he knew from experience that hobbits usually do not take the same approach to things as other races, not seeing the whole picture very often. The company had to move on now, and keep going for an hour or so before they could stop, and Gandalf was even willing to endure the whinings of one Meriadoc Brandybuck to keep his fellowship punctual.  
  
Legolas caught up with him from the middle of the group, placing a slender hand on his elbow. "Mithrandir, could we not pause for just a minute?" he implored gently. "I am sure he will not take long, and we can resume our journey immediatedly after." The Elven warrior was pained to see his half- sized companion in so much discomfort. He understood why they needed to press onwards, but he also knew that Merry wouldn't complain quite as much as he was doing now unless he was in a considerable amount of pain - for the young Brandybuck was not a certain young Took.  
  
Gandalf's deep-blue eyes softened, "I am sorry, Dian Yir [Young One], but I simply cannot allow it; we spent all together too much time dilly-dallying this evening, getting ready to go, and we must make up for it one way or another."  
  
"Aye," Legolas was not about to give up so easily, "but that was not *Merry's* fault. If you remember, 'twas our dearest Pip who decided that he needed desperately to cut his hair a mere few minutes before we were due to depart." He looked straight into Gandalf's eyes, widening his own greeny- silver orbs in hope, "*Please*, Mithrandir."  
  
The wizard chuckled deeply, "That look may work it's spell upon the Crown Prince, Legolas, and mayhap upon Aragorn - Tusinduil and the ranger are far too soft for their own good, I think - but it shall not cloud my eyes with it's magic. For I have seen many a millenia, and know now, through the trails of all your siblings and those of Imladris, when a cheeky young elfling is trying their luck, and the best ways to punish them."  
  
"Cheeky young elfling?!" Legolas demanded, rather outraged. His hand dropped from Gandalf's arm as if burnt and he threw his chin up defiantly, squaring his shoulders. "I have also seen many a millenia, and have been wearing earned warrior-braids for the most part of them. Now, if you insist upon being so stubborn and seeing as you seem to enjoy insulting me, I will leave you - and not give you the chance." And with that, he turned and strode back to his former place beside Aragorn and Frodo, muttering, "Cheeky young elfling, my ears." He cuffed the snickering Aragorn and Frodo both upside the head, and they fell silent almost at once, though each avoided the other's eye.  
  
They trudged on in silence for a long time, all thinking of their own woes and problems. The wind whistled unmercifully through them, chilling them to their cores, and the air was so sharp and cold it fair near hurt to breathe. The company had been light of heart the night before, laughing jovially as they watched Legolas chasing Merry with Sam's frying pan after the halfling had tugged on the unsuspecting Legolas' golden warrior-braids after the elf had remarked absently upon the state of Merry's feet (a very important issue for a hobbit), they had cheered and applauded when Boromir had sung to them a song from his homeland, and betted merrily upon the amount of smoke rings Gimli could puff up into the air in the space of a minute, against the quality of the shapes eminating from Gandalf's pipe, much to Legolas' disdain. But that evening, with the weather being at it's coldest and most harsh, and the terrain seeming to not have changed from the day before, their faces had fallen, and no one felt much like laughing so easily any more, for it was suddenly dawning upon some of them the danger they had put themselves in willingly.  
  
Sometimes, however, laughter was simply called for.  
  
"What would happen if I did this?" asked Pippin to Merry, pressing his cousin's flat stomach with a fair bit of force, brushing away Merry's feeble attempts to stop him with his other hand. The two halflings and Gimli were bringing up the rear of the company.  
  
Merry yelped and doubled up, "Don't, Pip!" he moaned. "I am not in the mood nor the condition." He looked up to see his best friend's jewel-green eyes glinting wickedly, and he added grimly, "I am serious, Peregrin."  
  
Pippin's face fell immediately, "Is it truly that bad, Merry?" he asked, worry creasing his auburn brows together. Jokes had already been made when the company first found out about the young halfling's discomfort, with Boromir deciding Merry had a stunted bladder, as he was always needing to go before any others in the fellowship (Boromir had then decided, much to the elf's indignance, that Legolas was a carmel as *he* was always the last, which had then lead to a lengthy discussion about what a carmel was exactly - it turned out that it was some strange creature of the South- eastern lands of Harad that could go for extraordinarily long spans of time without needing either to drink water nor to relieve itself. Pippin was still unsure whether such an animal actually existed, but he let it lie for fear of provoking another discussion), and so Pip had thought it was okay to tease his cousin about it. It seemed, apparently, he was now wrong.  
  
Merry nodded glumly, trying not to think about how desperate he was, and began to shift his weight from side to side even as he walked to ease the desire. It was getting harder and harder to keep his mind averted, however, what with the pressure steadily building as time trickled on.  
  
Gimli chuckled as he hefted his great axe from one broad and leather-clad shoulder to the other. "Aye," he sighed, "he'll explode soon, right enough." He threw a glance at them and roared with laughter at the faces of his two companions when he'd said that; they truly believed him for just a second. "I am jesting, Masters," he assured them, for not everyone understood the curious yet superior humour of Dwarves, "but I do think we should stop soon, if Master Brandybuck, here, is feeling that badly. It may drive him mad before the end."  
  
Pippin sniggered when Merry nodded at once, agreeing whole-heartedly. "But Legolas has already tried to make Gandalf stop, and he wouldn't," the Took protested, then bit his tongue. ~Too late~  
  
He expected the dwarf to snidely remark upon how good Greenleaf's persuasion techniques were or how useless the elf was or something - he expected trouble - but Gimli merely nodded and answered thoughtfully, "Aye, and he didn't manage it."  
  
~Well, that's one for the books~ Pip thought silently, glancing at Merry who had also taken note of Gimli's apparent easing off of Legolas. ~Maybe it has something to do with the other day?~ mused Pippin ~After all, Gimli did feel terrible after finding out about Legolas' mother in such an awful way~ The dwarf had even taken care not to cross the Elven prince's path for at least a day after that incident, which was unusual as they both seemed to do everything in their power to annoy and end up in each other's line of fire all the time. Perhaps this was because an air of melancholy still seemed to hang over Legolas, even when he was laughing or bantering wits with Aragorn, and that a spasm of guilt still seemed to capture the features of Gimli whenever he caught sight of the silent elf.  
  
Shaking his head at the bemusing actions of the two strange races, deciding he would not trouble about it now, but would talk to Merry later when they were alone and his cousin had been relieved, Pippin switched back to the problem in hand. "Well, I think this calls for action," he said to his friends, and they leaned in close to listen to the vaguely-ingenius Tooklander.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Gandalf?"  
  
The wizard looked down at his side, and was surprised to see Peregrin Took walking beside him. "Yes, Pippin?" he asked, aimiably enough - though if the Took asked him any sort of ridiculous question in any form again, he would hang him by his newly-cut, auburn curls from the very top of his staff for the rest of their journey.  
  
"We need to stop, *now*," Pippin stated.  
  
"I am sorry, Peregrin, but that is simply not possible... Now keep walking," Gandalf added when he noticed the hobbit had halted, a scowl beginning to appear on his small, freckled face.  
  
But Pippin shook his head defiantly, now flanked on either side with Gimli, who's coal-black eyes held a rather amused twinkle, and a slightly hunched- over Merry. "Merry needs to go, and I say we should let him," Pippin continued, extremely daring for one so intimidated by the wizard. A wild thrill ran through him, his heart swelled; he was challenging Gandalf!.  
  
Gandalf raised a large bushy eyebrow, "Oh?" he asked pleasently, though no one present could mistake the sinister steel-edge to that one, simple word. He took a menacing stride towards the protesters, and was rewarded with a faltering, half-a-step backwards from all three of them. "And what made you think that I wouldn't simply soldier onwards with the remaining company, and leave you behind?" he asked, as though genuinely intrigued.  
  
That got the spokesman, "W-well... we, um..."  
  
"Because you would not leave us all behind and simply soldier on with yourself, Mithrandir," Legolas answered smoothly, stepping forward to aide his fellows, and dragging a somewhat-reluctant Aragorn by the tunic with him. His eyes flashed silver as Gandalf glowered at him, not affected at all by the wrath that burned there - he had faced the wizard many a time in his childhood and the glare had lost it's effect some time ago, as it had with Aragorn. "After all," he continued, "what is a leader without his company? Right, Estel?" He elbowed his best friend hard in the ribs when the ranger did not answer immediately, making the air rush audibly from the northerner's lungs.  
  
"Arrgh! Er... right," Aragorn agreed, slightly winded, rubbing his chest and shooting a glare at Greenleaf, "Legolas, your elbows are really sharp, you know that...?"  
  
"And Boromir, you agree with us, don't you?" Legolas called back, glancing over his shoulder at the Gondorimm who was stood behind them, next to Sam, who had also not yet vouched his support.  
  
"Aye, right you are, elf," Boromir answered with a mock salute. He himself was not particularly bothered whether they stopped or no, he just wished not to be a victim to Legolas' elbow, as he was already well aquainted with Greenleaf's knees. ~And if his elbows are even half as dangerous as his knees...~  
  
"Well," Gandalf looked as though he were considering, "I don't know whether you realise this, my Prince and my lords." He bowed his proud head mockingly and Aragorn rolled his eyes, wishing Legolas had never even mentioned anything about his title the Lord of Impeccable Timing; it was getting increasingly tiresome. "But I *can* continue and leave you all behind just as long as I have the Ringbearer in *my* company."  
  
With this, all eyes swivelled as one to Frodo, who looked suddenly like a coney caught in a lantern's candlelight. Sightly panicked, he looked to his right, but even Sam was staring at him with his large, doleful brown eyes. ~No help to be found there, then~ They were all expecting him to say something, to take a side, as was always the way when the fellowhsip got into such discussions... how he always ended up being the deciding vote thoroughly escaped him. As always, he appreciated both points of views and yet flatly refused to sell out any one friend for another. So he thought for a time before answering and chose his words carefully, "You do realise, don't you," he began slowly, "that in all the time you've wasted just now, Merry could have just gone and been back already?"  
  
There was silence as the company all looked at one another. The question was: who was going to give way first?  
  
"All right!" Gandalf gave up, throwing his arms up with a flury of silvery- blue robes - if such a contest was going to be ended, it was to be on his terms. No victory had been won by either hobbit nor elf. "We've made up the time for this evening, with room to spare. So I *suppose* we can take a long break if you all wish." The cheering of the fellowship in triumph broke into laughter as Merry dashed into the trees, too hurried to say thankyou.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
As the Sun began to rise and dawn approached gradually, the ragged and weary company came to an official halt and began to unpack and settle down for the day. Sam and Gimli got supper started - it having already been decided beforehand, in one of the less entertaining moments of the walk, that today was the day for broth. Sam had been saving some ingredients so that the fellowship could have a warm and cheery meal when the time came, and all believed that then was it. The hobbit and the dwarf were in the middle of a conversation about food and ale, and different types of meat, and both were extremely content with the other's company; what with both being interested in pretty much the same things.  
  
Frodo was in a deep talk with Boromir, each reminicing about their homelands... and each being thoroughly enthralled with the telling of the other's. Boromir went into great detail about the White City, and injected it's passion and pride into the words he spoke of it, and Frodo's love and fondness for the Shire emanated from him as he remembered. It seemed to the others of the fellowship that both were beginning to get a little homesick.  
  
Pippin and Merry (with Merry now a lot more comfortable), however, were in no such position; they were chattering loudly away at Aragorn and Gandalf as all four smoked their pipes. The conversation held nothing of importance in it at all, but it warmed the hearts of the man and wizard as they listened and rolled their eyes to it aimiably, so easy to listen to was it.  
  
Legolas sat on his own, well away from the outpouring of smoke, simply sitting quietly and gazing upwards at the fading stars. He, like Frodo and Boromir, was beginning to pine for his homeland - his brothers and sisters, the wise words of the trees, the familiar pathways, the thrill of the hunt, the songs of his people... he didn't really understand but being able to look to the heavens and know, without a doubt, that the same sky with it's ebbing stars and rising Sun was enveloping and stretching out over his home... it comforted him some how. And so he was lost to the starlight, and took no part in the other's conversations.  
  
Though being a part of the company of nine had made the Mirkwood prince become a little bit more outgoing - for one had to be in such a seemingly haphazard situation - he was still a quiet elf. Elves, as a rule, were less inclined to chatter than Hobbits or even Men, but being brought up in the Royal enviroment of a tense Mirkwood had moulded Legolas into a placid, reseved child... Aragorn, when he had first begun to know Legolas - the real prince of Eryn Lasgalen - had been amazed by the hold silence had over his friend... of course, he had helped to lessen that hold somewhat. But even as he had grown, becoming a young warrior even, Legolas was more solitary than most, and at times he wished just for peace and the light of the stars. It was not a problem at all - merely a character trait.  
  
The wrist of his left arm had begun to itch - Legolas rubbed the protective, leather forearm-guard absently, and began humming a tune he had almost forgotten, but that reminded him of happy times in Mirkwood, eyes still fixed upon the coloured sky.  
  
Aragorn looked up sharply as the strains of the tune floated across to him, beautiful and yet a little eerie, "Elf! I told you, you are never to even *whisper* that song near me again!"  
  
Legolas' fair head whipped round to face him, strands of golden hair flying, "Excuse me?"  
  
Aragorn stood in haste, and Pippin dropped rather ungracefully from his lap - yet Aragorn barely looked down. "Do you not remember, we were scouting the edges of your home woods all those years ago. And we were caught out, and having to spend the night outside - we built a flet." At Legolas' withering look, the ranger amended quickly, "All right, *you* built a flet - I was hopeless at that - but anyway, we slept there, and you thought up that ditty, and *all night* you persisted in singing *that* song! It almost drove me to do away with you in the dead of night with your own knife!" Aragorn was becoming most agitated, much to the confusion of the rest fo the fellowship, barr Legolas, who just grinned wickedly.  
  
"Well, let's have this song then... it sounds like a dainty tune," Frodo called up from beside Boromir, who began to smirk at the ranger's jerky movements and obvious discomfort. ~This is going to be good~ he thought.  
  
Legolas shook his head almost bashfully, "Nay, it is just a simple song I made up a while ago that seemed to annoy my good friend Estel, here, to no end... though why it should is beyond me, I happen to like it and think it most soothing." He went back to trying to work his fingers under the leather band around his forearm... this itch wasn't leaving any time soon.  
  
Pippin and Merry made a noise of distress, wanting to hear this song now, intrigued and involved as they were, Gimli stayed silent and yet observed without complaint, Gandalf chuckled and Boromir shouted out, "Come on, elf! You know we love to do anything that adds to our ruffian's annoyance... he seemes to have a very low threshold for it now, and yet we still work at it!"  
  
Legolas grinned widely at that, his amusement heightened by Aragorn's groan of resignation - both to the name Boromir continued to call him, and the fact that they were going to get the song out of his best friend at one point or another. "Very well, then." The elf picked up a stick, and was finally able to reach the point of his irritation under his arm-guard by poking it under the annoying piece of leather.  
  
He began, the tune rather haunting and yet distinctly beautiful as Legolas' ethereal voice cultivated the words into an almost visible tale for the fellowship, the sadness and longing he felt for his home seeping through unconsciously, and yet giving the song more passion and purity... it seemed to flow right from Legolas' heart.  
  
"A high flying bird flies above; you cannot see him from the earth.  
He sees as he flies, and knows as he sees, The masses below, there trouble below...  
  
"This high flying bird has no sense of time; for a thousand years he's climbed the skies.  
His brothers have burned - flown too close to the Sun, But higher and higher, this white bird flies...  
  
"There's no turning back as blue becomes black; the air becomes thin - his flight begins.  
But the bird can still breathe, right over the fog, All the masses are waiting, and this bird can now sing..."  
  
The company stayed in a stunned silence for more than a minute after he was finished, just holding their breath. Then Sam, always stunned by Elves' beauty in general and always the most appreciative, stuttered, "H-how could you find that annoying, ever, Mr. Strider?"  
  
Aragorn, who had always been around Elves all his life - and sometimes took their beauty a little for granted unintenionally - shrugged, "After a night long full of it, you'd be sick too, I believe."  
  
Merry and Pippin shook their heads violently, and both at the same time protested in earnest, "No I wouldn't." Legolas chuckled, and went back to scratching his wrist with the twig and thinking, unaware of the looks of awe being shot his way by more than just the hobbits.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Okay!" Legolas threw his stick down just a little while later, thoughts of home long banished from his mind as irritation won over, "This is getting beyond ridiculous, now!"  
  
Aragorn looked across vaguely from his pipe, and frowned as he saw his best friend ripping off the arm-guard of his left forearm in complete frustration and throwing it down to the ground with annoyance. "What's your problem, there, Legolas?"  
  
Legolas sat back in relief, clawing away at his wrist with blunt fingernails, "I couldn't get to a rather abominable itch to scratch it." He gazed down, the pale skin of his wrist now flushing a raw red ~Completely worth it~ he thought. The elf shrugged, "Now I can," he stated simply.  
  
Pippin, who had inexplicably decided to sit closer to the elf after hearing his song, glanced across, then double-took and gasped, "Legolas! What are all those marks on your wrist?" This drew the attention of the rest of the company, and each at one time or another, looked to the Elven body part.  
  
Legolas stopped scratching, and noticed the marks for the first time in months - after having them for so long, he had forgotten they were there. They were scars, thin scars that were white, shiny, and rose up slightly from the rest of his skin. With the skin surrounding them now being bright red, and them being starking-white, they were particularly eye-catching. "Oh, I've had them for years... they're also on my other wrist and ankles, too." He unwound his green-suede boot from his right leg, and exposed one pale ankle, which was also surrounded with the marks.  
  
"What are they?" Frodo asked quietly, winter-blue eyes searching his friend's fair face for any sign of discomfort - for he would call off his cousins if he ever detected even a hint of past pain. He had a pretty good idea of what they were, and would not wish to call up any other bad memories for the prince.  
  
"They're handcuff marks," Legolas said simply, his expression and demeanour open - it seemed as though there were no bad memories to be found within eighteen leagues of him. He even willingly continued without being called upon by Pippin to do so, "Orcs captured many a year ago. Of course, I was too wily for them." He glanced at Aragorn in a silent thankyou - both for the gallant rescue at the time, and not saying anything now - the ranger just winked and nodded.  
  
"But, I was not aware Elves scarred," Boromir mused out loud, perplexed. He had learnt many a thing about races other than his own during the relatively short time he had spent in the company, and it looked as though that wasn't going to stop at any time soon. And the strange thing was, he wasn't complaining.  
  
"Well, we don't scar permenantly - they eventually fade after many years." Legolas gave a wry grin and shot a look to Aragorn as though it were his fault, "If we did, I'd be riddled with them and no one would be able to recognize me." Ignored was Gimli's half-hearted, muttered remark of 'Who would want to'. ~If he imagines I can't hear that~ the elf thought ~Well, he's a dwarf~  
  
Aragorn, meanwhile, was mildly outraged at the insinuation that he had scarred Greenleaf, "Look, a large portion of those injuries were your own fault- " he started, determined to be right in this at least.  
  
"If I remember correctly," Gandalf spoke up for the first time slowly, his deep voice rumbling with amusement, "That's exactly what Legolas said about that unfortunate scar *yours*, Estel, and many of your other scars." He did not look up from his pipe, merely smiled, knowing an explosion was imminent and he would be able to listen without concerning himself.  
  
Both man and elf shot up immediately and started shouting: "Yes! Let's talk about that, *shaaalll* we!" and "You know as well as I that it *was* his own fault!"  
  
All four hobbits were looking at the two standing figures, delight painted across all their faces in the guise of huge, ear-to-ear grins. "What is this 'unfortunate scar', Legolas?" Frodo asked, tone obviously baiting.  
  
"Yes," agreed Merry, twinkling chestnut-brown eyes never leaving the ranger, "And *where* is it, Strider?" He was rewarded with Aragorn flushing scarlet and looking down at his boots, dark unruly hair falling over to cover his face, and Legolas, realising the line had been drawn and his side had been taken - that he had the upper hand - dropping his arms at once and beaming as he anticipated the fellowship's reaction - he had trained his hobbits well.  
  
"It'zs ohnma beyhide," mumbled Aragorn, eyes still glued to his permenantly mud-stained boots.  
  
"What was that, ruffian?" Boromir asked, eyebrows raised and golden eyes eager. He cupped a hand behind his ear and leaned in mockingly, as if suddenly hard of hearing.  
  
Aragorn sighed and shifted his grey gaze to a nearby tree, "It'zs ohnma beyhide," he muttered, just a little louder in volume than the last time.  
  
"A-beg pardon?" requested Gimli, not too proud to take part in such a humorous game - much to Legolas' amusement, not to proud to let him. Gandalf chuckled from where he sat, still not looking up.  
  
"IT'S ON MY BEHIND!" yelled the stressed northerner, eyes swivelling up to the heavens as his arms shot out to the sides wildly. The company collapsed in helpless laughter at that, having acheived exactly what they intended to do. Aragorn could only stand there patiently, still bright red in the face, waiting for them to take control of themselves once more. "Are you done?" he grunted gruffly, completely unamused. ~Damned elf~  
  
Pippin picked himself up from beside Legolas, who still had not quite gathered his wits together, and asked, genuinely intrigued, "How did you get such a unique scar?" Though his green eyes were merry, it was obvious he really wished to know and was not trapping the unfortunate ranger.  
  
"I..." Aragorn shifted his weight from one side to the other, "I had managed to make a little bit of a mess in the Mirkwood kitchens one afternoon- "  
  
"'A little bit of a mess'?!" cried Legolas, incredulous, now fully standing. "The place was trashed... we had to replace all those supp dishes and crockery you somehow put your clumsy feet through, you broke the main fountain just outside the kitchens and there was water flooding the lower levels of the palace, a fire from one of the upturned agas had begun to blaze at the *other* end.... not to mention the Head Cook wanted *my* hide."  
  
Boromir muttered audibly from his place by Frodo's elbow, "The Lord of Impeccable Timing strikes again, then?" Frodo turned to him and grinned widely, and the rest of the group snickered.  
  
"As I was saying," Aragorn continued pointedly, pretending he hadn't hear the remark, "There was a mess that I had made... but through some mysterious way or other, Legolas incurred the blame- "  
  
"He means that when my father asked, 'Which one of you two idiots is responsible for my having to evacuate the west wing of the palace this afternoon?' The Lord, here, answered immediately and, might I add, without hesitation, 'I believe you are talking about Legolas, there, sir,'" the prince explained, arms folded.  
  
"Yes, indeed." Aragorn was not about to dwell on *that* argument again; he swiftly carried on, "Anyway, after some minor punishments- "  
  
"Having to clear the whole mess up myself, pay for everything to be replaced out of my own allowance, apologise to *everyone* involved, executing the wrath of my father, the list goes on..." Legolas assured the fellowship, arms still crossed firmly in front of his chest.  
  
" -Legolas came to find me, and was, obviously, very upset."  
  
Legolas nodded - he didn't think anything else needed to be added there.  
  
"I-I told him... that he should stop behaving like the pansy little elf he was... and that he should take his punishments like a Man..." Aragorn looked downwards once more, smiling a little sheepishly, "...A-and then ran away." The company fell about once more, but quieted quickly; they wanted to hear the rest of the story. "It turned out," Aragorn continued, "That Legolas did not appreciate that comment so much, and he... shot me with an arrow in the nether-regions as a lesson."  
  
The company fell about *yet* again.  
  
"Shot you in the what?" Sam gasped breathlessly.  
  
"He means Legolas shot him in the arse!" cried Merry as he was getting back up from off the ground.  
  
Legolas merely stood and smiled as the rest of the fellowship straightened up, "He should not have exposed it," he stated simply. "He goes waving that thing at me - he deserved to be shot." He chuckled at Aragorn's good- natured embarassment - well aware that Aragorn did not like the fact that he had run from the elf to be banded about too much.  
  
Frodo, ever-perceptive, picked up on this at once, and hoping to ease his mild humiliation, showed the northerner his small, lean right hand. Near to where the thumb joins the palm there was a large, white puncture mark, "I reached for a quill, but it was end up," he said quietly, eyes fixed to see the ranger's reaction. Aragorn smiled, glanced at Frodo and held his eye, showing the hobbit that he was aware of what was being done, and was thankful. Frodo's big, blue eyes then flickered to Legolas, who raised a golden eyebrow dryly and tried not to smile. He failed miserably and a wide grin spread across his face, indicating that he also knew what was happening.  
  
It worked, and Boromir, catching on quickly also, lifted the side of his heavy tunic, and showed them all his hip. A large, puckered patch of skin could be seen, it was rather shocking in it's seriousness, really. "My brother Faramir and I were practising fighting with swords when we were young, he was too quick for me and never lets me live it down, though he almost killed me," he explained. They all laughed and Boromir chuckled as he pulled his top back down again, shooting a glance at Aragorn, who grinned and nodded.  
  
Pippin thrust his calf into everyone's view - not really aware of the misdirection ploy, but wishing to be involved anyway - there was a noticable dint in it. He pressed it and the dint gave way slightly. Frodo grimaced - he hated seeing the thing. "Merry and me were up a tree, and I fell down it," he said excitably. "And landed on a branch," the brightness his tone held made them all wonder whether he had actually been troubled by the injury at all.  
  
Not to be outdone, Merry let all see his elbows, which, aside from being rough and red, were decorated with raised and shiny skin, "I fell off my pony, but my foot was caught in the stirrup and he dragged me all the way to Hobbiton!" He stated as though it were something to be proud of - though it affirmed in everyone's mind that hobbits were definately made of sterner stuff than they appeared, though it had been proved already many a time.  
  
Gimli showed them his forearm, which a rather recent slice in it that was healing, all scabbed over, "I slipped when sharpening my axe a few weeks ago," he grunted, avoiding catching anyones eyes, afraid they would laugh at him, until Boromir put a hand on his shoulder in thanks. The dwarf looked up, and his dark eyes crinkled suddenly with mirth.  
  
Sam opened the palm of his large, brown and work-roughened hand, revealing a slight discolouration of the skin right in the centre, "When I was a babe, I tried to catch the flame of my lantern," he said sheepishly, then chuckled as if seeing the funny side to it all for the first time.  
  
"So you see," Legolas slung an arm around his best friend, letting the man know that he had not meant any harm - though the action was unnecessary; Aragorn already knew. "Everyone has scars they'd rather not talk about," and the words held double meaning for the two beings - things that only they really knew about, for both held scars of the past, and both were thankfull to the other for never breathing a word about them. Yet the elf couldn't quite let the serious moment last, "And yet I am afraid that your's still beats them all!" he cried, clapping his best friend on the back a little too heartily... and then dashing away as Aragorn predictably tried to grab him. "You are forever doing what is expected, my Lord! You must try to stop that, you know!" Legolas was well aware he was already at the other end of the small camp as he shouted this.  
  
"When I catch you, elf, I'm not only gonna wring your scrawny little neck, but every bone in your bloody body!!!" Aragorn growled good-naturedly, beginning to climb the tree Legolas had just shot up - a lot less gracefully, Legolas would have added - Valar bent on fufilling his threat. The laughter of the company as they watched the two best friends fight in the branches of the tree - neither really gaining anything over the other, but both with large grins spread over their faces - rose up in the suddenly-warmer air to meet the morning Sun. It was obvious that no one would be sleeping for quite some time - what with Aragorn's injuries that would need to be tended to, and Legolas' gloatings to be shut up, and the hobbit's questions to be answered, and Merry was already beginning to feel a little discomfort once again, but no one really minded as the spirits of the company were high once more. It was completely worth it.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ A/N: Song lyrics are from Toploader's song 'High Flying Bird' - I suggest you get the album called 'Onka's Big Mocca'... it's really rather good! 


	5. Legolas: A Regular Water Babe

A/N: It's an American expression, so I may be using it in completely the wrong sense here, but I just want to say kudos to six of my reviewers. Don't get me wrong, the rest of you rock as well, but these six have stuck by me from almost the very beginning, and I salute them! They are - Xena, "...", Beth, Tinania Lindleriel, Artemisa and... who could forget... the lovely Sirith.  
  
This is my new incentive scheme to get the rest of you all reviewing regularly, just so I know you're still with me... you never know, maybe you'll get a shout out if you review!  
  
Also, it is a complete accident that I have focused on Legolas a tad more than the others... I didn't intend to, but I've just realised that I really, *really* do... it's his natural magnetism, you see.... so apologies from my end, but just wait till you see the next chapter... Gimli plays a large part, and it's a double-parter. You have been warned.  
  
I shall leave you now and let you read in peace. Alicia  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Legolas: A Regular Water-Babe ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"By mushrooms, Merry, you don't half tonk a bit!" Pippin pinched his nostrils in an exaggerated way as he stared in mock-shock at his elder cousin, who seemed slightly peeved about something or other.  
  
Merry halted and turned, incredulous, "Are you implying I am anything less than my usual fragrant self, Peregrin?" he challenged, just a hint of danger lacing his tone. Frodo, walking with them at the time, snorted heavily, amused immensly by the antics of his cousins, and yet when Merry whirled to fix him with an evil-eye, he managed to look completely (and almost convincingly) innocent, studying the patterns of the brush around them intently. Merry, not being able to accuse him of anything, again turned to Pippin, "I don't smell that bad, do I?" he asked, rather embarrassed and anxious now.  
  
"In all fairness, hobbit," put in Boromir gently, walking to their left, wishing to ease his friend's discomfort, "I think we've all seen better days when it comes to personal hygiene... you are not alone, small one."  
  
It had, indeed, been some time since the fellowship had used their last wash-stop; a mixture of bad locations for halts and paths - they had come across no rivers, pools, ponds, streams... anything, for a few days - and an almost constant overhead inspections from the spies of Saruman (Sam had stated plainly that Crebain were his least favourite animals, for he was sick of dusting himself off and picking himself up from the floor with each unexpected attack) had made it impossible for them to either take a long break, or utilise their short one into cleaning up.  
  
"Then again," Boromir continued, "I doubt the ruffian has... for he seems to revell in guising himself with dust and dirt, don't you, Aragorn?" He shouted the jest to the head of the company, where Gandalf and Aragorn were leading. Aragorn, catching this taunt, held up a hand and gestured in a manner much against the usual protocol of an heir of Gondor - not that the ranger followed much of that protocol, anyway - without even turning around and barely batting an eyelid. Boromir heard a familiar chuckle from far behind him, and he knew that Legolas' sharp Elven ears and eyes had caught the exchange from where he was bringing up the distinct rear of the fellowship. He decided that the prince would be his next victim, "Greenleaf, however, must be disgusted with us... so unused to such squalor is he. How does it feel to be unable to wash your feminine locks less than four or five times a day, elf? And how *do* you survive without being able to bathe in milk and perfume your clothes with roses and the such?" He raised his eyebrows, listening and anticipating a worthy explosion from his good friend. He glanced down, the three hobbits walking with him were also grinning widely, awaiting a reaction with mischief dancing in their eyes, Gimli's broad shoulders were shaking violently as he walked in front of them, but he stayed silent.  
  
Legolas however, liking to think he was generally at least one step ahead of the mortals - and especially the dwarf, shrugged unexpectedly. "I dislike it intensely," he stated coolly, green eyes scanning the area around them - he would not let his duties of rearguard become neglected merely for the sake of his natural-born hobby of mortal-baiting - "all this rolling in your own muck and the such, and we all stink to the high heavens, of course. And how does that saying go?" He paused with a pensive look on his face, as if trawling through the reams of knowledge in his mind, "'When in Gondor, do as the Gondorimm do'?" he asked, as if he didn't know.  
  
Gandalf, listening from the front, rolled his eyes in almost-exasperation and looked to Aragorn, "Have you heard him?"  
  
Aragorn winked and smiled, shaking his head, "His on his way for a fair clout, I reckon, and make no mistake," he muttered.  
  
Boromir's brown eyes flashed golden, and they narrowed dramatically as he considered this half-hearted insult carefully. He shook his head, turned completely, and started walking slowly towards the elf, who had stopped and was simply standing there, serene and calm, one golden brow raised. "You should be careful, elf," he warned, good-naturedly, but with a hint of mock- threat seeping through into the tone, which Legolas immediately picked up on. "What you say about other's, that is..."  
  
"Forgive me, brave Gondorimm," Legolas bowed deeply as Boromir halted before him, within grabbing distance. He looked up through his dark eyelashes, still in the midst of the bow, green eyes glinting wickedly, "I believe the saying really was 'When in the company of mortals, do as the mortals do - to a certain extent, at least'." He immediately darted away with immense, practised skill as Boromir lunged for him.  
  
"Right you are, elf!" Boromir shouted, and began the hunt, for Legolas could not dance away from him forever.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Mithrandir, Estel? Could you, mayhap, just find us a puddle or something? Anything would be most appreciated, I'd say," inquired Legolas, now sporting a slight bruise across one high cheekbone - as it turned out, he *couldn't* dance away from Boromir forever. "I would not ask it, but Pippin is becoming increasingly tiresome, harping on and on about Meriadoc's supposed 'stench'."  
  
Aragorn grinned slightly, "He must be bad, to have *you* saying something, Greenleaf," he said. Legolas was usually the very last to snap and lose his famed patience when it came to the troublesome antics of Peregrin Took - it seemed to be a virtue of his.  
  
Legolas gazed at him, eyes calm and cool, "If *you* wish to act as the rearguard, mellon nin, then be my guest," he indicated the back of the fellowship with his hands and crouched down slightly as if in awe of his friend of decades, as if a humble servant. Aragorn chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. Legolas smiled and straightened, then continued seriously, "Nay, he is not bad... I am merely using him as my scapegoat - for though I fear that I have left more perspiration dry on my body in the last few days than is good for me, I do not wish to give Boromir an opening for jest... Don't even." He raised a slender hand and cut off his best friend as Aragorn opened his mouth to say something about Legolas' concern for Boromir's jesting - and not only Boromir's, as Aragorn suspected a certain dwarf had something to do with the elf's stoic behaviour. "I am not in anything resembling the mood it takes to deal with you adequately today, Estel."  
  
Gandalf chuckled deeply, as always finding the conversations of the two humorous, brotherly as they were in their actions, "I think you'll find, Dian Las [Little Leaf], that young Peregrin Took is the scapegoat in plenty situations. Merely ask Merry and Frodo - it is not something to be ashamed of."  
  
Legolas nodded his head with a small quirk of his lips, but then turned to them again after a momentary pause, "I feel nothing of darkness, Mithrandir: I believe we may, for once, have no Crebain upon our tail..." He trailed off as Gandalf nodded, confused that the Wizard already seemed to know that.  
  
"I am aware of this," Gandalf stated with another nod. "And we have devised a special treat for our fellowship, because of that - Aragorn told me of this place a few days ago, and he has been leading us there ever since."  
  
The elf looked to his best friend expectantly, and Aragorn smiled knowingly, "Aye, I have... it should be merely a half-a-league away."  
  
And so the fellowship traveled on during the day - which was an unusual, though not unwelcome, change - only halting when they came to an almost wall of stone and foliage, standing out against the parched, flat brush of the landscape, a small woodland at it's back. "Why are we stopping here, Mr. Strider?" asked Sam as he turned, as they all did, to look at the rugged ranger with interest.  
  
All except Legolas, he was concentrating on something, his sparkling green eyes distant, "It's muted by the stone," he blurted suddenly, "but running water is near." He grinned excitedly - which many an elf didn't do, but Legolas was a most perculiar and eccentric elf, the long years he had spent with Aragorn as his best friend giving him some quite un-elfly habits: grinning widely was one of many -"We're going to be able to wash!"  
  
The hobbits' eyes widened and they looked positively delighted as they stared at Aragorn. The northerner simply nodded and winked at them, then turned and led the company through a small tunnel, almost hidden from outside eyes. Legolas hitched a breath slightly before venturing into the dark, enclosed passage - his father's palace might've been for the most part underground, but the caves of the Elves were wide and full of light and ventilation, with many windows cut into the solid rock. And Legolas himself lived now in quarters high above the ground and near to the sky, in the crown and branches of one of the grandest Beech trees of Mirkwood, and was happier there as he, more than any others, had always felt uneasy underground and in enclosed spaces, even his father's magnificent caves.  
  
But presently the company came out into the open air again, in the green and surprisingly lush woods that backed the stone wall and tunnel, and Legolas breathed deeply again. Aragorn led them confidently down through a series of pathways and rock-wall passages, knowing implicitly where he was going, though the last time he had visited this place was many a year previous. The Lord of Impeccable Timing he may be, but he was a damned good ranger - the best in history's far-stretching knowledge, in fact, whether that be from the blood that ran through his veins or the Elvish way he had been brought up, none could tell. But he was fair nearly infallible when it came to the skills of a ranger.  
  
Finally they came to an almost-clearing. It was completely closed in over them, but in a good way, with the trees surrounding stretching their limbs out and towards a common centre, weaving their branches together beautifully and without fault, and providing much needed cover for the fellowship. Gimli glanced at Legolas, who was gazing up at the trees with a small, almost sad smile upon his face, eyes shining, and then to Aragorn, "Why do the trees do that, Aragorn?" he asked, fairly interested, but not wishing to show he was in front of the elf.  
  
Aragorn looked down at him in surprise, not thinking that the son of Gloin would be all that interested in such things, but he answered anyway, "A very, very long time ago a company of Elves once traveled here from their homes in the mountains in great danger, wishing to reach Mirkwood and then Rivendell safely, for an important message was to be delivered. They were being hunted by most foul things, and were reaching exhaustion, needing to stop desperately, and they came upon this clearing and the trees, sensing their kindred's danger, shielded them from evil. Even mountain-Elves have a bond with trees, you know."  
  
Gimli nodded, and then straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat, "Yes, well..." he grunted.  
  
Aragorn smiled and shook his head, his grin widening as the hobbits cried in sudden joy, "A lake! There's a lake here!"  
  
"Damned right there's a lake here," he called out with amusement, "You expect anything other from me?" The lake was a serene, beautiful spot, deep and tranquil, the peace of the waters accentuated by the swirling underneath of dazzling greens and endless blues. It was exactly what the fellowship needed, in body, mind and spirit.  
  
Frodo, Merry, Pippin and Boromir ran, as one, down to the water's edge, and began undressing the top halves of their bodies. They intended not only to bathe, but to take full advantage of the pleasant circumstances and have a little fun. Up until then, the last bath they had had was courtesy of Rivendell, the washes since only being quick little numbers, cold and rushed, beneath the arms and around the back of the neck; now they were going to submerge themselves totally. Gandalf and Sam sat a little bit furthur away from the lake, settling themselves against a hillock of grass, thankful for the breif respite. Aragorn and Gimli made their way down to the water at a casual pace, and Legolas followed a little way behind, eyes still taking in the wonder of the clearing and ears picking up the greetings of the trees of the wood, who hadn't had the pleasure of welcoming one of their children back into their arms for a long time. But then, his eyes fell upon the water, and he grinned.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ "That's unfair, now! I refuse to be the 'tigger'!"  
  
The large majority of the company was in the water, enjoying themselves enormously, splashing one another and diving from the edges of the small stone cliffs surrounding the lake. Sam had declined many an invitation - being wary as he was of anything other than solid ground beneath his feet - he sat instead with Gandalf, talking of many things with the wizard who, it turned out, wasn't half as scary as Samwise had previously thought.  
  
"Now, I am an old man, but why won't *you* swim, young Gamgee?" asked Gandalf, absently searching in his pack for his pipe and weed.  
  
The gardener shrugged shyly, his apple-cheeks flushing a rosy red, "I don't have water-legs, Mr. Gandalf, sir," he explained. "And I can't swim," he blushed even furthur.  
  
"Well, that's not unnatural, many hobbits cannot," Gandalf assured calmly. And it was true - the small section of those who actually could swim were mainly Tooks and Brandybucks, who were thought of as queer among the Hobbiton community anyroad - as everyone knew, they were descendants from the Stoors and Fallohides, who had taken up many an unnatural habit in their time. Hobbits distrusted water immensely, what with them being creatures of comfort who very much stuck to their ways, and water being so unpredictable, the two just did not match.  
  
"You're the one I've got my eye on to tig, elf!"  
  
The two were silent for a short time, watching the swimmers, then... "I don't understand how Mr. Frodo is so confident and can go playing in the water, after all - you know of his parents," Sam blurted out unexpectedly. He looked slightly shocked that he had said such a thing, and rushed to correct himself, "-I-I mean... if it were me, if I were him.... W-what I mean to say is..."  
  
Gandalf smiled fondly at the flustered young hobbit who was too wrapped up in politeness and a sense of geneality to truly speak his feelings very often, the wizard's night-blue eyes twinkled with the light of the stars as he laid a hand upon Sam's small shoulder, "Do not fret, Samwise Gamgee, I know exactly what you are thinking - and you should not bite your tongue. But you must understand that Frodo needs this relief and refreshment, and you shouldn't begrudge him of it."  
  
Sam was aghast, "I-I wasn't, I'm not- !" he stuttered, but then stopped himself and looked down. "Mr. Gandalf, I don't begrudge him anything, I never would..." he began to try and dig his way out of this right royal hole he found himself in. But the wizard merely smiled at his attempts, and the large, gnarled hand upon his shoulder squeezed gently for some time as Gandalf's eyes returned to his comrades. Sam's brown eyes quickly followed, and he watched his friends, new and old.  
  
"Aha! You lose, I win - t'was ever thus!"  
  
Many a thing was happening in the lake: nearer to the shallows, Merry and Pip were splashing each other furiously in a battle of frightening vigour, their large, flat feet making excellent waves and huge splashes, and both were spluttering mouthfuls of water out at every turn - and yet neither seemed to be achieving anything.  
  
"M-whurph... Merry! I'm going to-whumpgrh...!"  
  
There was also a pretty standard game of underwater tig going on - which the two cousins would soon be sucked into - between the dwarf, the hobbit, the elf and the two men. Shouts of triumph and yelps of hysterical laughter reverberrated from the stone all around them. The water, though cooled by the lack of sun through the branched coverlet above them, seemed to be heated by some other force... no one could tell what, either way it was exactly the right temperature, and no one felt much like leaving the place of sanctuary. They may have been beings specially handpicked by Lord Elrond of Imladris himself, specifically for the task they had been appointed, and the astoundingly-high levels of skill and ability they could contribute to the Ringbearer, and the way they handled themselves in imminent danger. They realised they were facing peril of the utmost importance to the history of the whole of Middle-earth, they all knew they might never return home to their families, friends and loved ones at the end of it all, but for once, they just wished to enjoy themselves, to be themselves - and not think about the dangers that lay ahead.  
  
"Right then, so be it!"  
  
Boromir was currently the 'tigger', and he was doing everything in his power to catch up with Legolas as he steamed through the lake, but the speed of the elf underwater seemed to be even greater than the fairly considerable pace of his above - there was no catching him as he glided under the surface, more like a ghost or spirit than anything of real solidarity. Boromir, realising the futility of such a chase, soon switched tactics and launched himself at the nearby-Frodo, who deftly swam away, resulting in a huge wave rippling the area of the lake they were in, but no other 'tigger' to be crowned. Aragorn and Gimli were laughing heartily, safely away at the other side of Merry and Pippin's battle. "Steward of the Gondorimm, unable to catch up with a young hobbit less than half his size!"  
  
"I suggest you close your mouth at once, my Lord, or I shall have to come over there and shut it for you!"  
  
"Come on then, if you think you're fast enough!"  
  
Legolas hauled himself up out the water, laughing loudly at the antics of his friends and Gimli. The spotlights of sun which were able to penetrate the roof of wood built over them glinting off his wet golden hair, that now, when wet, fell down way past his bare chest, and his eyes were dancing delightedly with mirth as a rather silly grin plastered itself across his fair face as he clambered up onto the highest of the small rock cliffs.  
  
"Young Greenleaf seems to be enjoying himself," Gandalf remarked humourously with one bushy eyebrow raised, half-consumed in the task of filling his pipe.  
  
"Aye, Mr. Legolas is a regular water-babe, and make no mistake," Sam laughed, watching as the elf dove off the cliff of stone into the water, but making no splash nor sound as he disappeared beneath the surface. Elves loved water, believing it to be the most beautiful, powerful, grand, treacherous, enchanting thing upon the earth - that was part of the reason why the call of the sea claimed each and every elf at some point in their long lives, may it be for better or worse. Legolas was no exception.  
  
"And he's back in the game!"  
  
By now, Merry and Peregrin had, indeed, been sucked into the game of tig. It was increasing in intensity and joy, what with half of the contestants laughing too much to put up a proper fight and swim as fast as they normally could, making it easier to tig, less of a challenge, and thereby deminishing the whole point of the game. Ergo, the dunking began.  
  
"Aragorrraagggh!"  
  
It was Aragorn's fault; he started by dunking Legolas, who then dunked Merry - the closest to him - who then dunked Peregrin - naturally - who then attempted to dunk Boromir, but failed, so both his cousins had to help him out by jumping, as one, onto Boromir's broad back, succesfully making the Gondorimm's head go beneath the surface, despite the warrior's protests. By this point, everyone was dunking everyone else, Gandalf and Sam were laughing from the shoreline, spirits were high and the water a boiling pot of activity.  
  
"I can't believe you just did that!"  
  
But, as with all good things, it had to come to an end. So when the sky was beginning to darken and night was drawing in, Gandalf called a halt to the beings in the water, "We shall camp here tonight, and set off again on the morrow, for this is as safe a place as any." He did a quick head count, but only counted six, slightly blue, faces in the lake. His eyes narrowed, and after a moment, he spotted the problem. "Legolas, where is Gimli?"  
  
The rest of the company turned to Legolas, who's demeanour and expression was entirely innocent, green eyes widened. "I don't know what you mean, Mithrandir," he stated calmly, unaware that a trail of bubbles was drifting up from his left side and popping upon the surface of the now-still water was betraying him.  
  
Aragorn raised a dark brow, looking very much different now that all the mud and signs of travel had been washed from his weary features, and his hair lay clean and straight against his scalp, "If you do not know where he is, who is that dwarf you are presently holding underwater?" He knew his best friend would neve intentionally hurt the son of Gloin without having an adequate reason, but then again, Gimli's blunt and yet sharp-tongued comment about Legolas' beloved, late mother may have given the elf a just cause.  
  
Legols looked mildly surprised, "What dwarf?" Then, as if suddenly remembering something, his green eyes widened theatrically, "*Oh*, you mean *this* dwarf?" And with a startling strength that one would not expect from such a thin creature, he hauled up a spluttering, drenched, red-haired being from under the surface of the water with ease. The company was mildly speechless for quite some time.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
The fellowship was mainly asleep, the hobbit's having foregone their usual sleeping arrangement for some reason - no longer where they all in a pile. Gandalf snored deeply into his hat which was placed at an angle over his face. A slightly blue-in-the-lips Pippin was curled up against Aragorn's side, head on the ranger's shoulder, as the man slept with his head resting back on his pack, throat open; Frodo's ebony-curled head lay upon Aragorn's flat stomach, using the man as a pillow. Boromir lay on hs front, golden- brown head kept up off the floor by the crossed arms it rested upon. Merry's feet had been cold, so he had wrapped himself up in one of the extra blankets, as well as his own, and had fallen asleep before his head really hit his pack. Gimli, mildly dryer than he had been earlier, slept as far away from Greenleaf as possible, so as not to explode with fury at every sight of him, and Sam stood, a blanket around his shoulders, watching Legolas watch the water.  
  
The time for watch-change had come, and yet had passed the elf by without notice. He had eyes only for the surface of the water, and his mind strayed back to his home as he unplaited his golden warrior braids; his eldest sister, Niandias, was to be wed to a very fine young gentleman called Githrell whom Legolas liked very much - the imminent wedding part of the reason why King Thranduil would not give his blessing to let his youngest son leave their lands, let alone to join the fellowship (no doubt Thranduil's good friend, Elrond, would be getting an earful from the irate King about Legolas' decision to leave ~Poor Lord Elrond~). Legolas had left, knowing that he would miss his sister's wedding, but believing it to be for the greater good. But now.... as he imagined he saw her beautiful face in the water, with the faces of his family crowded around....  
  
Legolas sighed heavily, his large eyes straying, once again, out towards the middle of the lake, where the fragmented Moon and scattered stars were reflected in it's depths. Sam thought it was time to make himself known - the fact that Legolas hadn't already sensed he was there testiment to solemness of his thoughts.  
  
"Hullo, there, Mr. Legolas, sir," he said cheerfully, as he went and sat down next to the Elven prince.  
  
"Mae govannen, Master Gamgee," Legolas said with a smile, thankful, as always, that a hobbit was nearby. It was most perculiar - he found himself fiercely fond of all the halflings and delighted in their company; he had never met creatures as strange, as big-hearted, as wonderous, as infuriating, as simple, as joyous and as beautiful as the four he currently found himself company with. And Samwise Gamgee was the exact remedy he needed for such gloomy thoughts of his. "What are you doing up and about, asleep you should be, Sam," Legolas said this as a father might say to a wayward child on discovering the small one sitting upon the stairwell, late at night.  
  
"Aye, well, that's not strictly true, Mr. Legolas," Sam said with a half- smile, less shy than he would usually have been - the ease and mirth he found in Legolas' company having helped his fear of superior beings, especially Elves, greatly.  
  
Legolas raised one golden brow, "Oh?"  
  
"Well, by rights, sir, you're meant to be alseep by now; it's my watch, if you follow me."  
  
"Of course, yes!" Legolas blushed, his tapered ears flushing subtly to a light pink, "Forgive me, Master Samwise, my thoughts ran away with me all of a sudden," he paused. "I was watching the water," he confided, for that explained everything to him.  
  
And Sam, of course, immediately understood; he had observed the elf's fascination with water before, and found it amusing. He nodded and smiled warmly, revelling in the fact that *he* could single-handedly make the elf laugh melodiously, almost at will. True enough, the elf's grin widened simply by looking into the young gardener's earnest, freckled-brown, round face. How he did love the hobbits, and Sam, in particular, held a special cornerstone of his heart, it seemed. He squeezed Sam's shoulders, and used him as a support as he stood, winked, and walked away to his welcoming bedroll.  
  
And Samwise was left to contemplate just how good it made him feel to have his shoulder squeezed in friendship by two such superior beings he had, at first, been very much frightened of.  
  
"A regular water-babe, indeed," he murmured with a smile as he settled himself to watch the ever-shifting surfaces of the water. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 


	6. Gimli: Self Appointed Barber

A/N: Well, here we are again... it must be said that I've had trouble keeping my mind on this; I have a puppy! A little chocolate-coloured laborador called Jools, and for some reason my attention just seems to go directly to him... no idea why...  
  
And guess what? Seeing as my past incentive scheme seemed to work, we have more imaginary awards to give out. Double kudos to the reviewers: Starlit Hope (formerly '...'), Sirith, Amorous and Say La Vie, who all have me on their favourite stories lists... I salute you! And a One-and-a-Half kudos to Artemisa, who has kindly taken the time to read and review a Star Wars story I have currently underway.  
  
Now this is a double-parter, I have a little suspence thing going on... clever, no? There is also a little bit of Elvish being spoken here, but for the record, asking me to write Elvish is a little like asking me to write in Swahili (though I think I know the word for 'hello'...). Some words are the real macoy, some have been comandeered from other stories (I use pretty much anyone elses where I can) but some things have had to be made up. They are in no way right or anything, it's just how I imagined it would be. I am in total awe of those people who can *actually* write in Elvish, and use the proper tenses and sentance structures and so forth... so I apologise in advance for the awfulness of the made up words....  
  
Anyway... let's get this show on the road! Hope you like....  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Gimli: Self-Appointed Barber ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Gimli sighed grumpily as he looked over his fellowship, trying to think of anything he could do that might lift the dullness that had suddenly settled over his watch. The rest of the company were fast asleep and the dwarf was very bored; for it was an extremely tedious thing to stay awake while everyone else slept on in silence. After scanning the wooded area surrounding their feeble camp twice, not only did Gimli now have absolutely nothing to do, but he had come to the conclusion that there probably wouldn't be any problems at all that day. Thinking again, he could only suppose was a good thing, but still... anything to liven up his watch would've been a welcome distraction.  
  
Suddenly, it seemed as though he had gotten his wish; there was a yelp across the camp. It had drifted up and towards the dwarf from the bundle of many blankets and heads of thick, curly hair that supposedly represented four young hobbits.  
  
Gimli strained his ears, listening intently, and could just make out the groggy voices of two halflings: a high-pitched trill that had to be Pippin, and a lower growl that was either Master Baggins or Meriadoc, Gimli couldn't be sure which. They both had deeper voices than an average hobbit, with a unique manner of speaking that boasted generations of superior breeding - the lilt of the words and the perculiar-sounding accents were a far cry from, say, Sam's rich, cultural tongue. Gimli knew that Pip, being a Took, and possibly Merry of the Brandybuck clan, technically ranked higher than Frodo in regards to gentility, but Master Baggins spoke so clearly-cut and eloquently, and had such a charming manner and way of behaving, that at the first meeting of the hobbits, to Gimli at least, he had seemed the nobler halfling.  
  
"*Peregrin!* If you do not cease in kicking me, I shall be obliged to get up and sit on your head! And you don't want to do that, do you?"  
  
Gimli grinned and chuckled ~Frodo~ he thought ~definately Frodo~ The dark- haired halfling was extremely polite and well-spoken, with a turn of phrase unlike anyone Gimli had met before. So when he threatened, he threatened in his own, unique and perculiar way. The gentle-hobbit's tone of voice made it obvious that *this* was no idle threat. The dwarf remembered with clarity when Frodo, not so long ago, had chased his two cousins around the camp and, upon catching the 'scoundrels', had proceeded to sit on them till the younger hobbits had all but begged for mercy. And all because Pip and Meriadoc had attempted to wake him in the best way they knew - pinching his nose till he was forced to return to the world of the living - which Frodo had not appreciated. By now, it was well known to all the fellowship that the young Baggins liked his slumber, and it was generally unwise to disturb him.  
  
"It's not me, cousin!" Pippin's squeaky and somewhat indignant voice *sounded* innocent. ~But then again~ Gimli reflected ~it always did~ "It's your Sam! He's dreaming of digging in your beautiful garden back at Bag End." From all the things Gimli had heard of this Bag End and it's garden, and Hobbiton, and the Shire, it sounded like an oasis. Gimli wished to view the Shire in all it's glory when all this was over, maybe he could visit this Bag End. The home of the Great Frodo Baggins.  
  
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Pip," Frodo recited the regular mantra that existed between the three cousins flatly, but with a slight smile in his voice. ~Master Baggins is no fool~ the dwarf stated in his mind, though he had known this all along. Gimli could hear him yawn - it sounded very much as if Frodo wished to drift off back to sleep as soon as possible. " -and it *is* you," the gentle-hobbit continued sleepily, "you have the smallest feet."  
  
Gimli chuckled heartily as Pippin gasped and, affronted, cried out, "I do not!"  
  
It was apparently considered a very demeaning feature for a hobbit to have small feet. Halflings took great care of their large, elongated feet, Gimli had noted; brushing the curly hair that grew atop them at least twice a day, washing their feet even more than their faces and necks, keeping the appendages neat and tidy at all times. The only thing worse Frodo could have said would be calling Pippin 'scruffy-foot'.  
  
There was silence following Pip's outburst and Gimli could only assume that Frodo had won the battle against the young Took, but lost the war with sleep. The only sounds the dwarf could now hear were the noises of his fellowship in their dreams. Aragorn's rythmic wheezing, the loud, guttural snores of both Gandalf and Boromir, the quick tempo of sleeping hobbit- murmurs and the deep, almost melodic, sighing breaths of an elf at rest.  
  
The sound of a scuffle from the hobbit-pile drew Gimli's attention once more. His charcole-black eyes darted up in time to see a halfling-shaped coverlet topped with thick, ebony locks rise up from the cluster and silently pad over to the other side of the bundle, pausing only to kick a lump of something sharply on his way. Another yelp was heard, but the vertical blanket only heeded it by saying simply, "You continued to kick me, cousin. You should have expected to be kicked back - for you know me well enough." There was a whimper from the other end of the pile as the blanket laid itself down in it's new position, and Gimli heard three grouchy hobbit voices chorus, "*BE QUIET, PIPPIN!*"  
  
Gimli hoped the little people went on like this all day; it was exceedingly amusing to watch and it had entertained the dwarf no end through his tiresome watch. But the minor drama was put to an end when an extremely weary-sounding Aragorn, always the protector of peace between the fellowship, called from the opposite end of the camp, "Mayhap, if I can get Legolas up and at least *half* awake, he could sing you into a slumber - if you are having trouble, that is. Though I would not recommend forcing him to awaken, for he has been playing hide-and-seek with you through the night and has no doubt had enough of you. But I may risk it because his sweet voice would drown out your endless bickering... Now, *SLEEP*!" The ranger was rewarded with four hobbit sniggers and a deep chuckle from a dozing wizard, and then, thankfully for the northerner, peaceful silence.  
  
The dwarf frowned at Aragorn's words; indeed, the elf did have an unnaturally clear and pleasing voice, though Gloin's son grudged deeply to admit so. But if Aragorn wanted strength in his songs - enough power to drown out the hobbits - he should've turned to Gimli. Dwarves did not sing twiddily and flowery melodies about coneys hopping and water splishy- splashying - they *roared* chants. War-chants, Feast-chants, Sleep-chants, Watch-chants... Yes, Aragorn had been overheard humming and mumbling deep verses in a strange tongue a few times on the move, Boromir's Gondorimm songs were uplifting and filled with hope and pride, Frodo had a very soothing voice when he was pushed to recite well-known hobbit-ditties by his companions, and obviously Legolas had shown off that he could sing many a time, even when nobody, least of all Gimli, ever wanted him to - and yet, nobody had requested a rousing chant from Gimli. Realising this, he threw a deathly glare at the sleeping elf as though it were his fault, having felt more inclined that day to cross him, and had, in fact, done so; mayhap it was something to do with the business in the lake the day before, where the elf had tried to kill him.  
  
Legolas lay on his back, golden head to one side, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, the prince had one hand clutched at his breast as the other lay at rest on the ground beside him. Aragorn, who had apparently been the elf's best friend for decades, and Gandalf who, as a close friend of King Thranduil - Legolas' father - had spent countless years among the many Royal sons and daughters of the hidden kingdom, both knew the prince well enough to be familiar with his strange habits and quirks - including the way he slept. But the rest of the fellowship had been puzzeled when they observed the Wood elf nearly always slept with one hand over his heart and the other pressed palm-down on the earth he slept upon. The younger hobbits, Meriadoc (who should've known better) and Pip (who most of the company found difficult to stop), in one of their cheekier and more flippant moods, had once asked the tall elf warrior why he slept like that, in such a position. Greenleaf had humoured them by smiling, kneeling down and confiding in them, quite seriously, it was so he could feel his life, honour, strength and sense of family spirit flow and pulsing through him, and so he could listen to the songs of Aule, hear the gound's voice, even at rest.  
  
Gimli had overheard this and had kept his tongue in check at the time as he had just been sharply reprimanded by Gandalf over his conduct regarding that particular Elven prince. But now he snorted and shook his head in disgust. ~Hearing the ground's voice?~ Naturally, stone spoke up occaisionally with it's wise, deep words - but only to dwarves who cared for it, worshipped, and made beautiful things from it. Only for those who loved it! High-and-mighty elves had nothing to do with the songs of stone!  
  
The elf was always doing stupid things like that - stopping in the middle of a night's march just so he could gaze up at the stars like some fool; wandering off while the rest of the company rested so he could speak with the trees he loved so - the ones that had apparently given him his name - and bask in the Sun's warm light; smiling idiotically whenever he heard birds singing, branches of gnarled beeches creaking or the rushing water in streams bubbling and swelling. Gimli knew elves loved water, and they truly thought it was the thing that held the most power and strength in this world.... ~What about stone?~ Gimli thought indignantly. The others in the fellowship let Greenleaf be because he was an *elf*, and all *Elves* must be treated with awe and reverence. All lesser races of Middle-Earth must bow down and like the soles of their delicate, oh-so daintily-clad, elven feet.  
  
Gimli sneered; *he* certainly didn't excuse the youngest prince of Mirkwood's petty little habits just because he was one of the first folk - no dwarf did. Dwarves, he knew, were always superior to elves and did not owe the skinny-streaks-of-mead anything.  
  
He had been taught long ago to hate and distrust elves. He had been told many a story at his father's knee, mostly about the King Thranduil of Mirkwood himself and his famed 'hospitality', that made Gimli resentful and intolerant of all Elven behaviour. And the elf he was currently forced to travel with was no exception - the son of Gloin thought, in fact, he might hate this particular elf more than any of Legolas' kindred. And that was saying something.  
  
With this thought, the dwarf's attention returned to the sleeping elf in question. Gimli needed to think of a suibtable way to pay Legolas back for the recent water incident, and for all the supposed 'accidents', as Greenleaf called them. He *had* thought to lay off the elf for a short while: the unfortunate way his joke about Legolas' mother had been taken making him more inclined to let the elf be, and to understand more about him, but that had been taken completely advantage of... and so, that was that. Greenleaf would not escape revenge. But just how to put an end to all the pranks, arguments, pay-backs and grudges, however, remained to be seen. Retribution was to be had for almost drowning him the day before, and that would be the end of it. Not that Gimli was giving up or saying Legolas had won, oh no - he was just more considerate of the others in the company than the arrogant, snob of an elf was. But that was no surprise. Elves, he had discovered, only thought about one thing - themselves.  
  
He looked at the elf then in complete disdain. Gimli was pretty certain Legolas was asleep, even though the large eyes were still open and seemingly aware. All Elves, it turned out, slept with their eyes open unless they were, ill, injured, exhausted or heartbroken. This both unnerved and annoyed Gimli terribly - it sometimes spooked him, when he wasn't expecting to be looked at and he caught sight of a set of eyes staring at him. But he had also stubbornly decided that Elves only slept that way to be different and special - a cut above all other races, even when sleeping. Gimli, however, knew this time that Greenleaf was slumbering, and not just lying awake, waiting for his chance to jump up and cause a fright - he had done this before, causing even Boromir to start, all the hobbits to leap about a league into the air and, though he would never admit it to anyone else, startling Gimli. He knew Legolas was asleep because the elf's pupil's were only small pin-pricks in the huge expanses of greens and silver that made up his orbal eyes. From a distance it looked as though Greenleaf had no pupils in those big eyes at all. Aragorn had told Gimli that when Elves rested, they walked in lands of purity and light, beauty and joy - lands where no darkness could ever reach them. ~And that poor man should know~ Gimli thought. Gandalf had told him Aragorn'd been brought up as a child amongst Elves and had nearly always been one of Legolas' best friends...  
  
Gimli had nothing but pity for the unfortunate ranger.  
  
Legolas stirred slightly in his sleep, causing the dwarf's attention to return to him. Gimli had noticed it a few times before, but he saw now more than ever that some sort of ethereal light shone faintly from the elf - from more than the white teeth showing through the slight part in his lips. It was from Legolas' pale skin, skin that shone pure moonlight, from his vivid green eyes flecked with shards of grey and silver that shone laughter and the light of the stars, and the Sun's bright rays seemed to radiate from Greenleaf's smooth, golden hair.  
  
Greenleaf's smooth, golden hair... his golden hair... Legolas' hair! ~Yes!~ Gimli all but bellowed with glee. The elf spent far more far too much time on those pretty locks of his, he obviously thought way too highly of himself - and Gimli now had the power to do something about it! Only that night had the hobbits been held, enthralled, as Legolas undid and rewove the plaits above his ears. ~And what a sweet and fitting way to pay the elf back for fair-nearly drowning me!~  
  
Grinning widely, Gimli crept over to the unsuspecting elf, trying to make as little noise as possible. This proved difficult; the chainmail and heavy leather he kept on, even at night, clinked and creaked with every step, and he wasn't the lightest of creatures ever to grace Middle-earth. The stray thought that crossed his mind, piping up ~Legolas would have no problem...~ only added fuel to his resolve to teach the elf a lesson.  
  
Cautiously, Gimli took one of the elf's own long, white knives from his still side and unsheathed it. It was a magnificent weapon, the son of Gloin *had* to admit that, having an affinity, as he did, with weapons of any sort. The light, elegant tool had a bone-white handle, probably ivory, the metal of the blade was a lot paler and lighter in weight than in an average weapon. And even to someone as illiterate as Gimli when it came to Elvish ruins, those inticately engraved on the side were wonderous to look at.  
  
Gimli shook himself out of his half-riviere. ~This is idiocy, stop stalling!~ It was an Elvish weapon - it may be pretty, but it obviously wouldn't stand up to the pure might of a Dwarven axe in battle. And how ironic the use that it would be used for. He grunted and turned back to the elf, and was suddenly, once again, startled by how fair the sleeping creature before him was. If there was one positive thing Gimli *had* to give to Legolas - though he didn't want to very much - it was how beautiful he was. It wasn't even as though the prince were merely handsome either, like Aragorn, Boromir, Frodo or, indeed, Gimli himself (as far as Dwarves went), it was the fact that he was truly magnificent to see. A light radiated from Greenleaf constantly, with brilliance enough to alert even a short-sighted dwarf, he walked with such elegance, even the most graceful man upon Middle-Earth could not comprehend how - when he fought he practically danced around his victims.  
  
His laughter was like sunlight after a cold and harsh winter, his deceptively-slender body was leonine and powerful, with the strength of many Men, his honey-pale hair was smooth and silken, his smile was always wide, warm and witty, and his eyes: even Boromir had to stop and take notice when Legolas looked him in the eye, and the hobbits were positively spell-bound by them. The elf's deep-emerald and forest-green eyes were flecked with jewels of silver, and shone with a film almost as though a mist of mithril had lain over the top.  
  
Gimli caught himself abruptly, realising what he had just thought ~There is no way I am 'fond' of this elf, nor do I think his 'laughter is like sunlight after winter' - what a foolish thing to say! An 'Elvish' thing to say. No way at all do I think his fairness redeems him. No...~ Though, strangely, the dwarf unconsciously felt he needed to prove his pure hatred of Legolas to himself; to do this he grabbed a fistful of the golden tresses, careful not to pull so the elf woke, and proceeded to cut as roughly as he could as quickly as possible.  
  
Though his heart was screaming for him to stop for some unknown reason, Gimli ground his teeth and hacked at the thick locks. Not once did he stop to marvel at the softness of the hair, despite how hard he was having to saw to break the strands. Elven hair was stronger than any other fibre in Middle-Earth, and when used in their Elven-bows, the hair would almost never break. ~I must keep going~ he thought, determined to see this through, wishing the pain that was steadily building in his heart to cease.  
  
He was in a frenzy at this point, cutting different sections at different lengths, just wishing for the controlling rage to leave him. Though Dwarves were, by rule, hot-headed, they did not like overpowering anger for they believed it robbed them of their senses, and no one, nothing, *ever* robbed a dwarf. Anger like the fire blazing in his coal-black eyes, was this sort of theiving anger Dwarves despise.It was this anger that drove the dwarf, as a final act, to cut off the braids of gold that twined down from just above Legolas' ears. These plaits had always annoyed Gimli for he had no idea why they were there - something to do with age, wasn't it? - and he'd longed for an age to simply reach up and haul the elf back down to earth by the fiddly bits of bangs.  
  
As soon as he'd cut off the second braid, however, Gimli was brought back to his senses sharply as a wave of grief and regret washed over, and threaten to overwhelm, him. He looked down at his hands, clenched into fists so tightly the knuckles seeped white - he held most of Legolas' formally glorious locks in them. Strands of spun-sunbeams littered the floor like straw. The light that usually shone brightly from them was gone, leaving the tresses looking a sickly yellow, instead of the brilliant gold they had been.  
  
"*What have I done?*" Gimli whispered to the suddenly-dead air surrounding him and his victim. Remorse left a bitter taste in his mouth. He stared in horror, first at the masses of hair in his hands, to Legolas, who now looked extremely odd and almost frail, vulnerable in every sense of the word. Instead of the beautiful, poker-straight mane he had once had, the elf's golden hair was viciously shorn, uneven, longish-bristles amongst the tattered remains of the once-magnificent locks.  
  
Gimli dropped the knife as if it had bitten him, seeking revenge for it's master. He shook all over as he crawled back desperately to where he had sat, not moments before, never once taking his eyes off the practically- mutilated elf. He could not believe he had just comitted such an awful thing, and he wept inside, for the loss was great - though he had thought not to care once the deed was done. Gimli had been set on finishing the task, so that he would not feel so terrible - now he knew that nothing would stop him feeling guilty. ~How wrong I was, I misjudged myself~ he thought miserably.  
  
He hated this elf, why did it bother him so whether Greenleaf wore his hair long or short?!  
  
~Because~ he answered himself ~what you have just done has no honour in it whatsoever. Legolas, even, would not have done such a thing to you... he is not as bad as you~  
  
Gimli actually felt like weeping, the guilt weighing upon his heart, the very heart that tried to stop him doing such a thing in the first place, was unbearable. But he could not sit and feel sorry for himself - all pity should rightfully go to the elf, he thought - though the dwarf expected full vengence to be wreaked at a later date. Gimli sighed, thoroughly miserable, and looked down at the locks in his hands. He stowed them in his back-pack.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
A short time later, Aragorn was shook half from his sleep by the dwarf. He frowned, extremely reluctant to come back to the world of the living, thinking himself fully able to sleep till well into the next week, so exhausted he was. He raised a hand to bat whatever was bothering him away, and his face buried deeper into his pack, which he was using for a pillow, only to be shaken again, even more roughly. With a groan he sat straight up, eyes still closed, and he croaked, "All right, all right - I'm up, I'm.... up," the sentance was punctuated by a yawn that came, unbidden, to him.  
  
"Master Ranger," said Gimli, "I'll be needing your full attention, there." His voice held a tone of amusement, but eyes the colour of cobalt glanced nervously about the camp, hoping no one else was awake.  
  
"And you shall have it, my good dwarf," stated Aragorn firmly with a decisive nod and frown, eyes still closed. "Just... a moment, please?" He attempted to unglue one top eyelid away from one bottom eyelid. A weary annoyance rushed through him half-heartedly as he realised that the eyelashes of both lids were stuck together, and only extreme and full eye- opening could pull them apart. Gimli looked on with curiousity as Aragorn's dark eyebrows raised, surely to his hairline, and the eyes opened slowly with trouble, to reveal that the grey orbs were rolled upwards to the sky. All this effort to open one's eyes? He was brought back to the present, however, when he noticed that the ranger's attentive, albeit bleary, slate- grey eyes were fixed upon him. "My attention is full, and I give it to you without any question, other than 'what?'"  
  
The dwarf shifted uncomfortably, and looked down to the earth-compacted floor, "I feel I may have done something rather foolish, Aragorn."  
  
Something in his tone made Aragorn sit up just that little bit straighter and take note more, rather than focusing his sleepy mind upon the statement 'This better be good'; for apparently it was. "And what might that be?" he asked, almost cautiously.  
  
Gimli paused for a short time, and glanced at the northerner, "I think you mayhap had better see it for yourself." He stood, and extended a hand towards the man to help him stand, which Aragorn took with suspicion and pulled himself up. Gimli led him to the scene of the crime, "Now, don't shout," he warned quietly, not wanting the rest of the fellowship, and particularly Legolas himself, to waken.  
  
Aragorn could not hold back the gasp that escaped from him, and he whirled to look at Gimli, "Why have you done such a thing?" he asked, horrified. "And what in *Valar* would possess you to do it?" The son of Gloin could only look down, and that angered him, "I *demand* to know the reason, Gloinion," he stated, the steely edge to his tone that had scared many a heathen or petty thief into aiding him seeping through.  
  
Gimli looked up at him, and the ranger was surprised to see an overwhelming amount of remorse present in the dark depths, "I can give you no reason," he said helplessly, with a little shrug of his broad shoulders. "For I, myself, do not understand it." His head hung again, and Aragorn felt almost a little sorry for him. Until, that is, he looked back to his still quietly- sleeping best friend. Gimli spoke up again, "I woke you because I could think of nothing else to do... I need you to tell me what I should do."  
  
Aragorn gazed at him for a moment, and was silently thoughtful until he spoke up quietly, "No you didn't." He told the dwarf what he believed, and he was correct, "You woke me because you knew *I* was the one to be most angered, after Legolas, of course, and you wish for me to punish you with shouts and screams and rants and raves." He stopped again, and his face held no emotion, and his grey eyes were mere shutters to his heart, rather than the windows to his soul that they usually were. He shook his head, eyes still on the dwarf, "And I will not do it, for I cannot forgive you for this just yet. You believe that once I have 'punished' you, you are forgiven. Well, you are not." The tone of voice he used startled and hurt Gimli, and he looked up, but his friend had averted his eyes from him, and that filled him with guilt so strong it fair nearly choked him.  
  
The ranger spoke without looking at him, "Go, and pretend you are sleeping, I will rouse Legolas, take him into the forest and tell him of what has happened. That way, he will explode far away from here, sparing you from him, and giving the rest of the fellowship their full time to sleep - when they wake, *you* can tell them what happened."  
  
The dwarf could only stand there a moment; it may have looked as though Aragorn were protecting him from Legolas' wrath, but the highly-perceptive ranger seemed to know his mind, seemed to know that Gimli's thinking was that once the elf had taken out his anger on him, they would be even, that the two actions would cancel each other out. Of course, they didn't, but Gimli liked to think that - but Aragorn was not willing to let him have forgiveness. Or at least, not yet. But even so, it constricted the dwarf's heart even tighter to know that he had wounded more than just Legolas in his vile pursuit of vengence. But nothing could be done of it yet, so he just lay down without furthur question.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Estel, I don't understand... why is it I am not sleeping right now, again?" Legolas was unusually tired and grumpy, having been woken prematurely by his best friend some time earlier. Aragorn had bade him to follow silently, and they had walked into the forest for quite some distance, with Legolas thoroughly bemused the whole time. The ranger seemed saddened by something, but for the life of him, Greenleaf couldn't throw a guess at what. So he jested, hoping to raise the stunted spirits of his companion in any way possible, always the dutiful best friend. He pointed back in the direction of the camp, "You know, if this is about letting the others know of 'the Lord of Timing' thing, then I'm sorry... I couldn't help myself." Aragorn glanced around at the elf, who was smiling apologetically, and grinned despite himself as the prince continued, "But you do know that I can foil any elaborate, vengeful set-up of your own contraption with my wily and, might I say, extremely cunning ways, don't you Estel?"  
  
Aragorn chuckled; he could not help it, but then became serious once more as he stopped and turned fully to his best friend. "Alas," he said, "this is nothing to do with me..." At the elf's curious expression, he continued hesitantly; he had known Legolas all his long life, and yet was still unsure as to how he would take the recent event, "Gimli woke me earlier, seeking solace - he was ridden with guilt for something he had done, concerning *you*, Legolas..."  
  
Legolas' green-eyes narrowed dangerously and his voice was a mere rumble in the back of his throat, sensing trouble, "What has he done concerning me, Estel? Estel... look at me... *what*?" His head dipped, and his eyes searched the downturned face of his dearest friend.  
  
The northerner raised his head, and with distress plain in his clear-grey eyes, he said quietly, "Legolas... he cut off all your hair."  
  
Nothing happened for a time, and the elf just stared at him blankly, though Aragorn noticed his large eyes had widened slightly furthur. Legolas opened his mouth to speak, but no words parted from his lips, and then slowly, one slender hand was brought up to his head, seeking the truth.  
  
The truth was found.  
  
The prince's fair skin paled even more, he breathed in and his nostrils dilated, his other hand lifted to his head, and he felt all around, only to be rewarded with the feel of crude bristles and short bangs, nothing of the silky long hair he had once had. Aragorn held his breath, knowing that the delayed reaction was imminent.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Gimli had left the now startlingly-awake fellowship in search of Legolas and Aragorn. He had told the rest of the company of what he had done with his eyes fixed firmly upon his heavy-leather boots, not wishing to see their faces reflect the shame and accusation he felt in his own heart. So he had not seen that his friends looked upon him with no blame or digust... at first that hadn't known what to feel, but after a time they had come to see that the dwarf was punishing himself most adequately for his actions, and would need no aid there. They had decided to leave him be, they would treat neither him nor Legolas differently when they returned... if they returned in one piece, that is.  
  
The dwarf needed something, anything, to lift the heavy feelings that fell upon his heart, and whether that be a good, sound beating from an irate elf , then so be it... his pride needed to be taken down a notch, he thought.  
  
As he neared the place of his two comrades, he could hear raised voices. Not merely raised in the conventional sense of the word, but actual shouting and hollering. He could not understand what was being said entirely, but he listened anyway. The first was Legolas' voice, "Hepuen mevan lo nien cardu nad emnis?!" speaking harshly in his own tongue, and Gimli had never heard him sound this way before - he cringed with both fear and guilt, "A-van norote em *lyngwe* lom, Estel!"  
  
Aragorn's voice held a placating tone to it, he was trying to calm his friend down, for he spoke soothingly, also in Silvan, "Cer a-bevlon nid o ali tobar, mellon nin... nul valu carlan."  
  
"O?" Legolas asked in an incredulous voice, "Mar lan?"  
  
"Esaur Mithrandir tem lyngwe nis!" Aragorn laughed suddenly, seeing the funny side to the whole situation. After a shocked pause, Gimli heard Legolas join in with him, chuckling weakly, though his heart was not really in it. Gimli sighed silently, straightened his broad shoulders and made his way towards the voices... he was going to take his punishment with dignity.  
  
The voices stopped abruptly, and he knew they knew he was there.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ TBC ooooooh!  
  
A/N: The little conversation going on between Aragorn and Legolas goes a little something like this...  
  
Legolas: "How could he have done this to me?" "I am going to *kill* him, Estel." Aragorn: "And I believe that is your right, my friend... but please don't" Legolas: "Oh? Why not?" Aragorn: "Beacause Gandalf will kill me!"  
  
Aren't I good at made up elvish? *cough* NOT *cough* 


	7. Gimli: Self Appointed Barber II

A/N: Busted by Amorous! I really was going to have his hair growing faster than human's did, but then I thought that might be a bit predictable, so I'm afraid Legolas' just going to have a cold head for the time being.  
  
Thankyou, as always, to all my band of faithful (if not a little dogged) reviewers... and I do so apologise for leaving it off there, I was trying to see whether I could pull off a cliffhanger or not... apparently not! And I'm really sorry for not posting this sooner, but I've had a problem with getting to any computer recently... so this has been lying in my hard- drive, all ready and waiting, for over a week and a half!  
  
And I do agree with you, Diyan of Nightglade, I love Tolkien - he is one of the coolest people to walk this earth and I am eternally greatful that he wrote all the books and essays and notes that he did... but small personal moments were just not what he was interested in. I don't know, I personally think I go on a bit *too* much about descriptions and that - but I can't help it, I just love them all so! Even Boromir, and *I* am now a bit sad that he had to die, because *I* like him now, too!  
  
As for the writings of myself having no storyline or battle sequences... I'm really only new to this writing business, and have yet to venture out into the big wide world of action/adventure stories (but believe me, I will - there are more than a couple things that have been part-written and are big up on action... I am, however, still a little intimidated by that genre and will need to work myself up to it a little bit). Plus, with writing this sort of fellowship-getting-started fic, I was forever conscious of not ripping off Treehugger's brilliant story 'While the Ring went South'. Because that is one of the first fics I read, it's where I got this idea from, it's truly immense, *and* it imploys action sequences and bits of pure tension... I don't want people to think I copied it, and one of the ways to make sure that didn't happen was by just having these as vignettes between the characters, where nothing much is really happening - I'm all for personalities, and like it when stories uncover them!  
  
Plus, I couldn't think of anything that could be action in this, as Wargs, floods, climbing trees and allergic Elves are all bound into Treehugger's story! She bagsied them first! (BTW: bagsied means: dibs on, chored, commandeered... or, to those of you not from the very North north of England, Treehugger was 'the first to pick them'.)  
  
This chapter is for Artemisa, who was the first to read the last, and sounded as though she might just have cried in her review if I did not write another chapter fast, lol. And to Sirith: Hurry up with your next chapter! I have my pitchforks standing by my computer! Don't make me get my gaggle of followers...  
  
So, here we go.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Gimli: Self-Appointed Barber Part 2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
The son of Gloin stepped boldly out from the undergrowth into the area of his two potential-murderers. Silence suddenly reigned in the clearing.  
  
Neither man nor elf said anything, and Gimli - holding his breath - found himself feeling more than a little afraid; the intensity of the pair, especially the elf, as they looked upon him was near-lethal. While Aragorn's expression was hard yet slightly wary, his grey eyes flickering back and forth to his best friend stood at his side, Legolas never moved an inch the whole time... he almost seemed not to breathe. He was as tense as a strung bow, ready for release - Gimli thought he could almost see the prince's muscles quivering. He simply stood motionless, green eyes as cold as ice - both himself and his features looking a lot larger now his hair was shorn for some odd reason - fixed resolutely upon the dwarf's upturned, ruddy face.  
  
Gimli cleared his throat to rid the tremor that would surely invade it otherwise, and started out courageously. "Legolas," he said politely, and Aragorn thought it might be the first time either party had used the other's name, and not simply referred to each other as 'elf', 'dwarf', 'stunted creature' or 'lanky streak-o'-mead'. He continued, holding Greenleaf's eyes the whole time - and that in itself was a very brave thing - Elves, it turned out, were most intimidating... even when completely passive. "I believe I owe you an apology; for my act was unfair and undignified, and... here is my apology... I-I'm sorry." And with that succinct apology, Gimli broke eye-contact - believing if he held the near- terrifying green glare any longer, holes might just burn through the back of his head - and cleared his throat again, looking away to the trees at his side, wincing slightly in anticipation of the explosion that would surely follow.  
  
Aragorn shook his head in amazement; he had never, ever heard that dwarf, or indeed any dwarf, apologise to anyone outside of their own race... and *certainly* never to one of the Firstborn. ~But Gimli is unlike other dwarves~ he thought with a slight smile, for no other dwarf would have joined the fellowship so selflessly and accompanied them upon such a dangerous quest... they were no cowards, not in the least, but the sons of Aule kept to their own business nowadays, and were unconcerned with the troubles of others, as were, sadly, many nations in these dark times. And though Gimli had said at the time of the Council of Elrond that he wished to watch the elf - for he would be damned if he 'saw the Ring in the hands of an elf' - Aragorn believed there to be much more to this dwarf than others of his kind, and more than he, himself, had previously thought. The ranger crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping dearly that Legolas would accept this, almost-painful to hear, apology.  
  
"Stop that, Estel, I know exactly what you are doing," Legolas said softly, taken his eyes slowly from the dwarf for a just a moment to throw a wry half-grin in the direction of his best friend. Aragorn uncrossed his fingers and reddened, much to the elf's satisfaction, and Legolas looked back to Gimli, and considered which path he would take.  
  
How dearly he wished to beat the dwarf into the ground, pummel some of that natural dwarvish arrogance out of him, and yet... he also did not wish to kill the son of Gloin. The prince of Mirkwood could see that the Gimli actually regretted his unwise choice of relieving Legolas of his hair deeply, and not only because he feared for his life - there was something else to it. And so Legolas decided he would not murder the dwarf just then, no matter how much he wanted to. No, he would let this one slip through. ~But for the life of me I can't think why I should~ he thought, mildly iritated by himself. He breathed deeply, and in a controlled voice, he said very, very stiffly, "Our considerable dislike of each other has never come to fists before, Gloinion... and I think we should keep it that way if at all possible." He inhaled sharply and dipped his head in a small, barely- there nod, "So I accept your apology, son of Aule... but might I warn you, this is to *never* happen again." He said the acceptance in a rush, almost as though no one would take note of it that way, but Aragorn certainly did, and he grinned silently at his friend's back, nodding slightly - his good elf had taken the high road.  
  
Gimli was left speechless as Legolas left the area. ~That was it?!~ he wondered incredulously as the two best friends shifted as though suddenly invisible into the trees, back in the direction of the fellowship, Aragorn's hand upon Greenleaf's shoulder. Gimli had always been told that Elves were cruel, heartless, unforgiving beings who held grudges enough to fill all of Moria... could the stories and tales be wrong? Even those his beloved father had taught him? Poor Gimli was incredibly confused, and resolved to figure out the strange elf's behaviour at some point on their travels. He had been, though he would admit it to no one, frightened of Legolas' wrath - and rightly so - and the fact that the prince hadn't killed him came as a great relief to Gimli. Also, he realised his guilt *had* been lifted somewhat, and he was greatful for that, almost to the elf, even... ~Strange~ he thought, and shaking his head, he moved off into the trees also, following the two companions.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Back at the camp, the rest of the fellowship were rather anxious. Well, Merry had gone back to sleep... it wasn't that he didn't care about Legolas' plight - that wasn't it at all, he cared very much - it was just that an enormous sense of fatigue had fallen upon him suddenly, whether it be a consequence of playing hide-and-seek with the other hobbit's and Legolas all the previous night, or just because he was cold again, he could not tell. In any case, he had decided he would just catch a little shut-eye before the fireworks began - no one could fault him that, could they?  
  
So Merry slept on while they rest of the company fretted about the outcome of the confrontation in the woods, and of how to act when the elf, the man and the dwarf returned... *if* they returned.  
  
Actually, Pippin and Sam were more interested in getting some food cooked and down them all... and Boromir was quite confident that all would turn out for the best in the end... and Gandalf was never one to worry needlessly... so, really, *Frodo* fretted about the outcome of the confrontation in the woods, and how to act when the trio returned. "Boromir? Shouldn't you go after them... just to make sure they haven't killed one another?" the considerate halfling asked the Gondorimm anxiously, rubbing his small hands together. He did so hope that nothing awful had happened... to any party.  
  
"Nay, good hobbit," Boromir answered gently, uncrossing and shifting his long, boot-clad legs so they would not go numb, an unfortunate habit they had. He smiled, "The ruffian will see to it that they not kill each other... he's getting rather good at that, you know." It was true; Aragorn had quite often been the only thing blocking the elf and dwarf from each other - and was becoming quite skilled at preventing blood being spilt between the two.  
  
"Yes, yes... I know that, but..." Frodo trailed off helplessly, looking to Gandalf for advice, as he so often did.  
  
The wizard rewarded him with a kind smile and leaned in, a hand upon the young halfling's shoulder, "I believe, Frodo, that our fellow, divided companions might just surprise you with their reactions - do not forget that Legolas is an elf, after all."  
  
Boromir snorted, "Aye, when he so wishes to be! He's *far* too elfly to close a dwarf's mouth for us all, but he can frolick and jest, play hide- and-seek with hobbits and sing ditties to his heart's content!"  
  
Gandalf chuckled deeply, and lifted his long pipe to his mouth. "Yes, well... it must be said Greenleaf is not the... 'classic' definition of an elf. He's rather eccentric, even in the Elven world, you know," he conceded in his deep, rumbling voice.  
  
Pippin, overhearing this from his place by the fire - sausages were on the menu that morn, an excellent choice of Samwise's - piped up, "I thought you told us that Legolas was quite young for an elf?"  
  
"You don't have to be elderly to be eccentric," Frodo turned his dark head and reminded his youngest cousin with a smile; and if anyone should know, it would be him. Frodo had always been considered as a 'crackpot' in Hobbiton, just like Bilbo before him... and he was not ashamed of being, how had it been put once... '*perculiar* for a Hobbit'. Gandalf, catching his thoughts, winked in his direction, silvery beard twitching as his lips quirked, and Sam chuckled heartily into the small fire he was stoking.  
  
Suddenly, they could hear a soft crashing from the woodland to their right, and all held their breath, waiting for the unveiling of Legolas, and the answer to their collective question of - had the elf killed Gimli? A voice drifted across to them, it was Aragorn: "It actually doesn't look that bad... it's just a little bit shorter than Ithilmir's, and you never hear him complaining about the length of his hair..."  
  
Legolas' answering voice held a touch of annoyance - but the Fellowship had expected no less, after all, "I think you'll find that: no, it is a *lot* shorter than Ithilmir's, and you never hear that brother of mine complaining about *anything*, least of all the length of his hair..."  
  
"Well, if you're determined to go into a decline about it..." Aragorn's voice trailed off.  
  
"I am not going into a decline! Granted, I am not as happy-clappy as I usually am, but I think that's to be expected, is it not?!"  
  
"Well, I've never had my hair that short, so I wouldn't know..."  
  
"I am going to throttle you as you sleep later, Estel," stated Legolas in an off-hand manner.  
  
Frodo grinned at Boromir, who nodded happily; the fact that the two best friends were talking about the matter so lightly and even arguing over it boded well. The only thing to be slightly worried about was the fact that none had heard Gimli's voice as of yet... the possiblity that they were one walker short of a fellowship remained intolerably high. But then Legolas and Aragorn, followed (thankfully) by Gimli the dwarf, stepped from the shadow of the trees, and none present could quite hold back their reactions of the new, shorter-haired version of the Elven prince. Boromir sat up straight, Frodo gasped without really meaning to, Pippin stared wide-eyed and even Merry looked up from his bundle of blankets.  
  
Legolas' once-majestic mane of golden hair had been cut severely, and now barely fell past his ears. Being too short now to be pulled back, and with all means of warrior-braids being severed by Gimli's revenge-seeking hand, golden bangs fell forward into his face and green eyes. The newfound- shortness showed off his long neck, strong jawline, tapered ears and aristocratic lips, and seemed to make the fine features of his handsome face more prominent... the elf looked decidedly odd, but by no means awful. It actually seemed rather to suit him. Though it was certainly not the style of the time to have hair shorter than just below one's ears, with most people opting for at least shoulder-length locks - and in the Elven world many past the shoulder - Legolas didn't look *that* bad, it was just the shock of seeing him so differently that made the company stare...  
  
Greenleaf flushed slightly at the attention the fellowship was giving him, interperating their stares as ones of horror - for he truly believed himself to look awful - and ran a hand self-consciously over his shorn head. "I wish you all paid this much attention to me when I have something of importance to say," he jested with a hesitant smile, hoping against hope that the others would just accept the fact that he now had startlingly-less hair than he had when he'd gone to sleep last night, and ignore the fact from then on.  
  
It seemed the Valar smiled upon him, believing they had tortured him enough. Boromir - the most reliable in instances such as these (not that there were that many) - shrugged happily in a 'fair enough' sort of manner, and shifted his legs again, feeling the numbness creeping into them once more. Gandalf was already busy with his pipe as Pip and Samwise turned back to their sausages, Merry buried himself deeper into the wad of blankets he was wrapped in - though he doubted he would be able to evade full wakefulness much longer, but perhaps he'd gain a little warmth - Gimli sat down, as did Aragorn after giving the prince a hearty pat on the back. Frodo gazed at Legolas for just a little while longer as if evaluating him, but then seemed to reach a decision in his mind, nod with a slight smile, and sit himself down again, facing the warmth of Pippin and Sam's small fire.  
  
A small crease of confusion marred Legolas' golden brow, and he went to sit next to the ebony-haired halfling, pulling his long legs up to his chest. "What were you thinking just then?" he asked his friend quizzically.  
  
Frodo turned and looked at him, smiling mischieviously as his winter-blue eyes twinkled merrily, "I concluded that you had not gone mad with the grief over the loss of your locks... and that I wouldn't have to watch you like a hawk after all." He had been fully prepared to help Legolas, if the elf had been in need of it - but the prince was taking things surprisingly well.  
  
~Strange that so little events in the grand scheme of things actually mean quite a bit to those concerned~ thought Frodo, for it had been the same with Merry's stunted-bladder, and the time a day or two ago when they hadn't been able to wash for a while. One would have thought that smelling acceptable would be the least of their worries on such an important quest.  
  
Legolas laughed, the sound almost a song in itself, and clapped his slender hands together, "I am glad to know that a could have relied upon *you*, dearest Frodo," he said, with a pointed glance in the direction of Aragorn. Though he was joking about Aragorn, he meant what he said about Frodo; it made up his day that this halfling, this friend he had known for such a short time, would be that concerned about him... how he loved the hobbits!  
  
Aragorn, who had caught this remark, looked up and frowned from his place sat on a nearby log. "Hey, that's unfair, now. I was perfectly supportive," he stated defensively, a hand on his heart, keen grey eyes wide and appealing.  
  
"How so?" Legolas arched a golden brow in question.  
  
"I-I told you it didn't look bad; that many people have their hair that short; that if you killed Gimli you wouldn't be achieving anything..." Aragorn checked the reasons off on his long fingers as he spoke.  
  
Legolas cut him of succinctly, "Yes, and all of them lies," he said with a nod.  
  
The ranger's arms fell slackly to his sides and shook his head. "They're not lies," he said, but there was a inkling of something Frodo didn't quite understand behind his tone... Mischief, maybe? Earnestness? Conviction? Humour?  
  
"Really?" asked his best friend, a small smile on his lips, knowing full well what that inkling was. "What are they, then?"  
  
"Well," Aragorn started, a sly grin upon his rugged countenance, a look that was becoming all the more rarer and rarer as more pressure and responsibilities were placed steadily upon the dunedain's shoulders. "Let us say... they are slight variations of the truth."  
  
Frodo laughed aloud, "There is no such things as 'variations of the truth'. Truth is truth... pure and absolute - there are no variations of it, no grey areas." This was something Frodo had always been brought up firmly with, as Bilbo was also a fervent believer in the truth of everything... one of the only things the elder Baggins simply could not tolerate, could not abide for love nor money, it was lies - it was now the same with Frodo.  
  
Aragorn turned to face them fully, and smiled at the recognisable similarity between his two hobbit friends. "Very well put, Mr. Baggins, but I think 'lies' is too harsh a word... *opinions*! That's what they were," the thought had just come to him, and he announced it triumphantly with a flourish of his large hands, though he knew in his heart of hearts that he was fighting a losing battle.  
  
"Give it up, Estel," Legolas grinned at his desperate best friend with a roll of his eyes. Frodo and Aragorn chuckled and all went back to the hot sausages Sam had just handed them thankfully... and that was that.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
The day was dawning again, but the wind was blowing mercilessly as the company trudged ever-onwards over the rocks and boulders that made up their current landscape. The hobbits' curled-locks were being whipped this way and that, and they all shivered as icy fingers invaded every single outer- clothing's defence and found their way to the freezing halflings beneath. Gimli's head was bowed, his flaming-red hair flying behind him, and Gandalf battered his way through the buffetting winds with one hand forever clinging onto his smokey-blue hat. Boromir looked thoroughly miserable - there were no winds like this in the southern city of Gondor - Aragorn frowned darkly at nothing in particular, his foul mood rolling off him in waves, and Legolas had his cloak wrapped firmly and absolutely about himself. It gave him an almost waif-like appearance; he looked startlingly frail and vulnerable for such a mighty elf. He was not cold, for it took an extremely low temperature to chill an elf - the sort of conditions that made appendages drop off unexpectedly and the such - but the general will of the fellowship seemed to have hit rock bottom in the past few hours as they had been walking, with everyone tired, irritable and grouchy, and the atmosphere was not overly pleasant. Plus, he had a rough time ahead of him.  
  
"C-can we find shelter at some point, Aragorn... Gandalf?" asked Pippin, teeth chattering, from the back of the company. Aragorn turned with a scowl, ready to vent his ire at their current situation upon the innocent halfling, but the expression immediately melted away when he saw that all four hobbits were nearing a blue sort of colour. They were made of sterner stuff than they appeared, but concessions did have to be made for them occaisionally.  
  
He sighed, and said in a softer tone, "I am leading you there already, Pip - just... just bear with me, all right?" He was rewarded with the auburn- headed halfling flashing him a quick, if shaky, grin. He nodded to himself and turned back to the faded path he was following. The track had not been used in some time, and if he had not been the ranger that he was, none would've been able to find it - with the possible exception of Legolas. But the mood the elf was in, Aragorn doubted it. For Legolas knew where they were heading, and was (understandably) unhappy... and none but Gandalf knew of the swift but furious, whispered argument that had occured between the two, with Legolas coming off the worst, his pride bruised somewhat. Aragorn knew their coldness towards each other wouldn't last long, it never did, but he still did not enjoy these stints when he was in ill-favour to his best friend.  
  
And so the walkers walked on, each too bad-tempered to say much to each other, and each holding their tongues in case they insulted or snapped at another companion unfairly - which would be an almost certainty if any of them opened their mouths for long enough. Presently, Aragorn brought them down through a path of huge stone shards reaching towards the heavens from their places wedged in the earth, each measuring taller than two men in height and all leaning across the sky treacherously, making a sort of hallway for the company to pass under. The ground wound downwards steadily, delving deeper into the overlapping stones and slabs of rock that were the landscape, and the fellowship felt the wind die at once as the entered a large cave.  
  
Legolas' agitation was obvious to all who cared to look at him as they unpacked and settled down; his hands were balled into fists but clamped at his sides, his green eyes flickering, searching every nook and cranny of the underground refuge for any possible way to escape, as if he would really bolt like the nervous foal he suddenly seemed to have become. But he could find none, and so he sat as close to the mouth of the cavern as he could without being pushed back by the strong winds outside, and stayed there silently, and no one bothered him just then... All knew of the prince's large dislike and general aversion to caves.  
  
Frodo sat cross-legged, huddled between the larger forms of Boromir and Aragorn, who both had their knees drawn up to their chests and their arms crossed, trying to conserve as much, much-wanted heat as possible. Pippin sat on the rocky floor in front of Gimli, who had positioned himself upon a stone, the halfling leaned back so that Gimli's legs took his weight - the dwarf didn't seem to mind all that much, for the pair had sat in this position a few times before when both were in need of company. Merry and Sam were trying in vain to start a fire. But though they had the shelter to do it, they lacked enough fuel - which frustrated them (Sam in particular) greatly. Gandalf began to smoke his weed, and looked very thoughtful, his deep-blue eyes sometimes finding their way to the silhouetted figure of a tense elf.  
  
After a time, Boromir sighed, and stated - almost grumpily, if a warrior of Gondor was *ever* grumpy - "Well... as much as I am enjoying this and all, I should like to know when this hurricane will stop."  
  
Gandalf answered, looking up, "I do not know when this beastly weather will cease, I only hope the end comes soon." ~As does Legolas, I should imagine~ he added silently, glancing again upon the narrow back of the Mirkwood prince.  
  
There was silence for a minute, in which the company listened to the whistling harsh wind outside their shelter. Then, "Do you remember that time, Pip, when we were caught out one time in a cave whilst on an expedition?" asked Merry, trying to cheer spirits in his own, sweet way.  
  
Aragorn, rousing his mind from dwelling upon the most unwanted confrontation he had recently had involving his closest friend, raised a dark brow in question, "An expedition?"  
  
"Well," Merry conceded with a sheepish smile and a shrug, "more like... *a day out*... we took apples." He looked at his youngest cousin humorously, "We had to stay in that little stone tomb... er..." he glanced at Legolas's form and corrected himself rapidly, "*house* for the whole of the afternoon and most of the evening while it sleeted most heinously outside?"  
  
Pippin grinned at the memory, "Oh, yeah... That was all your fault as well - you told me the day was going to be a bright and sunny one, and that I shouldn't pack that extra sweater nor bother taking the scarf you got me... what a dolt I was to believe you," he concluded with a reminicent look about his freckled features.  
  
Aragorn looked almost helplessly at Frodo, who's blue eyes widened even furthur as he smiled and shrugged when the two young cousins began arguing good-naturedly over who's ability at predicting the weather was the best. Boromir watched the clashes lazily from where he slouched against one of the cold stone walls, a small smile lightening his bearded face - thinking that if he were ever at a loss for something to do, he would sidle up to one of the twosome and provoke them into debating with the other over anything... just for pure entertainment value. Frodo and Aragorn - the ranger having decided not to worry about his and Legolas' state of friendship, for the two had survived worse clashes than this - turned to a quiet conversation between themselves, debating whether Elves sulked or not which made Gandalf chuckle from where he listened. But Gimli's mind wasn't with the fellowship... or rather, it wasn't with the *collective* fellowship; he was still pondering the perplexing actions of the elf he had recently mutilated.  
  
He had expected his ears to be ripped off, at least... mayhap a light flattening... a shouting match would have been adequate - but something! Why had the elf not delivered what he was supposed to?  
  
He stood suddenly, and the unsuspecting Pippin fell flat onto his back with a *woosh* of air escaping his lungs, making Merry laugh so hard he had to hold his sides and Boromir snort in a rather undignified manner, which in turn made Frodo chuckle loudly and Aragorn howl with laughter - Gandalf suspected they were all slightly giddy with uncomfort. Gimli ignored this, walking towards Greenleaf, and settled himself beside the elf, mildly surprised there was no verbal argument layed upon him ranting against this rather out-of-the-ordinary act.  
  
But Legolas didn't seem to know he was there, or at least didn't acknowledge him; his large green eyes were fixed upon something that could not be see upon the horizon, his face a mask to all emotion. One pale hand was playing - in a rather immature manner, Gimli thought - with the green, silken hem of his suede tunic. The dwarf pondered this strange behaviour for a second, before lighting upon the notion that it was a comforting reassurance... one that the elf had probably done when he was a child, and that surfaced during times of stress, as quite a few childhood-habits did. The son of Gloin cleared his throat, making the prince finally look at him and outwardly realise he was there. But instead of addressing the dwarf, Legolas simply went back to staring out onto the wind-blown landscape, looking very much like he wanted to be out there, one hand still playing with his tunic's hem.  
  
So Gimli, as the proper protocol of polite conversations seemed to be being disregarded, simply went straight ahead and stated what was on his mind - something he didn't do all that often, "I was just thinking, elf, about the way you handled your reaction regarding my unjust deed last night."  
  
Legolas' attention caught all of a sudden, forgetting his heart's yearning to get outside the god-forsaken cave for a moment, and his fair head turned, eyes fixing on Gimli's, "Whatever do you mean, dwarf?"  
  
Gimli shifted in his chainmail, rather uncomfortable under the elf's piercing green stare - one that he still hadn't gotten used to despite the fact that Legolas glared at him with a lot more intensity and ferocity rather often, "Well, I merely wondered why there seemed to be no punishment for my wrong actions." He thought there would be *something* to follow-up the acceptance of his apology - to make them equal - and idly pondered the possibility of vengence being wreaked at a later date... but he wasn't about to say anything to that tune to the Mirkwood prince.  
  
Legolas frowned, confused by what the dwarf was implying. "But you apologised," he said simply with a shrug of his slender shoulders - *he* had thought that explained everything, obviously he was wrong. "Just so long as you are never my self-appointed barber again, I don't care."  
  
The red-headed warrior sat almost dumbstruck - 'that was it?' Surely there was more to it than that... these beings, *apparently* the wisest folk in all of Middle-earth, did something wrong and they just said 'sorry' afterwards and all was forgotten? Surely they seeked honour and respect by rendering their enemies lower than themselves when something had been inflicted upon them by the hand of those they hated? Did Legolas not hate him? Did he not hate Legolas...? He had been told that Elves took revenge whenever possible, that their pride was so great that even the smallest slight against it would send them into a blinding - though thoroughly laughable by Dwarven standards - rage. Gimli glanced behind him, to see Gandalf watching him with a slight smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes, and Aragorn taking a rather large interest in the proceeding from where he 'subtly' observed from his place beside Frodo and Boromir. He looked at Greenleaf again, but confusion still held the commanding position in the archer's counternance... the elf obviously, truly believed that saying sorry was all that was needed to be forgiven. Gimli *did* regret his actions, he just didn't think that saying sorry was enough. But his victim seemed happy enough with that concept...  
  
So Gimli shrugged, looking out into the distance also, "Well, had you done the same to me, I would've boxed your ears."  
  
That made Legolas laugh, and his demeanour lighten dramatically - one could almost see the elf's nautral glow shine brightly all of a sudden - for he realised he would be out of the blasted cave soon enough, "Ai, naugri [ah, dwarf]... you would certainly have *attempted* to 'box my ears', but you might just have had to sustain yourself with my kneecaps." And with that he turned to look out into the finally-dying winds, the sun just beginning to shine herself vividly from behind the cover of clouds that had blown across her path, giving the landscape and ethereal look, and leaving Gimli to ponder whether he should be amused, insulted or merely relieved.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
What are you thinking, me darlin's? Kindly review and let me know! 


	8. Pippin: Notorious Instigator

A/N: Bet you're all getting a little sick of me now, but I have a chapter for every character of the fellowship, and the little detour I took with Gimli added on one - but the end is in sight! Hopefully my stories aren't getting *too* tired and boring for you.  
  
Anyway, thankyou once again to everyone who took their time to read and review - and can I just take this moment to say: this has been one of my first ventures into multi-chaptered fics (yeah, alright, I'm cheating just a tad with having each chapter as just a scene, I admit) and the fact that ya'll were so nice and welcoming about it... and seem to get upset when the characters are blue, and happy when they're being daft... means a hell of a lot to me - there you go, that's the official end to my Oscar-winning speech of greatfulness, but I do mean it. And I hope I don't lose you on author-alert when this story's done, I want to hear from you all whenever I get my act together and venture forth into an action fic!  
  
We shall see, but I will say this to Amorous... I know *exactly* what you mean - and it is pure coincidence, I assure you! I just can't help myself! (If you want to know what the hell we're talking about, read her last review!)  
  
Anyway, Now a chapter from our youngest hobbit, I think... The last two chapters have been huge - so here's some short, light relief...  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Pippin: The Notorious Instigator ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Just because you are able to climb really high trees doesn't mean you have to show off about it, you know..."  
  
Pippin scowled up at Legolas' distant form, his small face radiating bad- temper. Peregrin had just a moment or so earlier been stating to Gimli what a champion he was when it came to wrestling - that he was the best in all the Shire and none could beat him - and he challenged both of his cousins in turn to wrestling matches, his restless spirit getting the better of him once again.  
  
He had been thoroughly trounced by them both - and now his pride was shattered. Consequently, he was in a foul mood.  
  
Legolas must have seemed to him to be the easiest target to vent his frustration upon and regain some much-needed status quo at that time, for the elf hadn't taken sides during the proceedings unlike the rest of the fellowship, and had spent the time maturely thinking about deep things, probably - and checking the fletches on his arrows as he sat high up in his reatreat - the grand crown of a large sycamore tree, and didn't really know about Pip's tempest-mood. But why Peregrin would choose the one member of the company who was *guaranteed* to put up the most formidable defense in all arguments instigated against him to direct his ire at completely escaped Aragorn and Boromir, who had looked up at his angry words. Perhaps it was Legolas' shorn head? It could possibly give him a weaker-look to those who underestimated him.  
  
In any case, the elf looked down as soon as he realised this remark had been aimed at him. "Excuse me?" he asked politely, eyes wide and annoyingly- sincere.  
  
"Well, we all know you can climb trees better than anyone else - do you have to do it *all* the time?" Pippin's vexed tone of voice made the rest of the fellowship wonder for just a split-second if he really knew how unreasonable he was being. They all glanced at one another anxiously. ~Of course~ they realised ~he knows - but isn't about to back out now that he's started it~  
  
Legolas merely looked at him for a quiet moment, a look of complete bemusement adorning his features, mouth open slightly as if to reply but the words never came. "I really don't know what you want me to say to that, Peregrin," he finally stated smoothly, putting down his arrows and balancing them upon the nearest fork in the branches that he nested in, and looking back at the hobbit fully, hands folded calmly in his lap.  
  
"He wants you to yell at him and then come down and fight him - he's bored and he needs something to do," said Frodo succinctly from where he sat beside the sleeping Samwise, stroking the soft curls of Sam's unruly mop of dirty-blonde hair absently.  
  
"I see... whatever would you want me to do that for, Pip?" asked Legolas calmly, his voice as sweet as honey, genuinely intrigued - as always - by the manner of the hobbits, and most especially this youngest one who it seemed had picked up strange habits from somewhere or other. Though the elf did have the feeling that none of the hobbits he was traveling with were by any measure ordinary.  
  
Pippin blushed scarlet at once, and frowned even deeper, annoyed now that the whole of the company was now interested in what he had to say for himself, for they were all watching in interest - and also that Frodo knew him way too well. "It doesn't matter - stop being so... I think - you... you know... it - I... It doesn't matter!" he cried eventually with an angry shake of his head. "I am not an instigator!"  
  
Frodo raised a dark brow, a look of amused-disbelief evident in his large blue eyes, "Peregrin, you know full well that you are a notorious instigator in Hobbiton. Legolas," he implored suddenly to the curious prince, "he's lying."  
  
The youngest hobbit, the subject of the conversation, spluttered with ire, and threw dagger eyes at the elf, convinced this unfortunate turn of events was all the warrior's fault.  
  
Legolas shrugged at the look, as though not all that concerned really, and lay back comfortably against the bough he was sitting upon, making Aragorn grin and shake his shaggy head. The elf was acting in that infuriatingly calm manner he did when he knew the mortal he was dealing with was just being irritable and intentionally difficult, and once he knew it was nothing serious, the elf would endure with this act it for a very *very* long time, until the mortal had calmed himself down a bit - the ranger had faced this behaviour many a time in the past, and knew just how much it frustrated those not blessed with Elven patience.  
  
The annoyed halfling was silent for a moment, scowling darkly at his own large, hairy feet, trying to think of someone who would lose their rag and get angry easily... it seemed he had underestimated that wily elf. ~But he'll crack some time~ he thought sneakily ~he must do...~ Plans were already beginning to form in his quick little mind of how he would reduce the elf to box his ears. But for now, he had to find someone else.  
  
Obviously, Merry and Frodo were out of the question - they had just beaten him, and he knew he could not take on the pair of them together without a disadvantage on their side... that was just one of the many problems with being the youngest relation. He looked to Boromir, who was lying on the ground, leaning against the wide base of the tree Legolas was currently up, and was therefore the second easiest and closest victim. But the Gondorimm, now quick in the ways of Peregrin Took, just raised a long finger and waved it at him with a shake of his head. "Nay, I am not the one you want," he said assuredly. His golden-brown eyes glinted then with a sudden mischief as a thought occurred to him, and he nodded his head slowly and extremely obviously in the direction of Aragorn, who was in the middle of scraping clots of mud off his worn-in leather boots with one of his knives, trying to make them look at least half-decent again. The look on Boromir's face plainly screamed, 'The *ruffian* is the one you are wanting' to Pip.  
  
Pippin grinned wickedly and nodded back, his dark mood seemingly to have receeded dramatically as the once-pissy point-scoring turned into much more of a fun game. He cleared his throat, and tossed a well-honed - and might he say, rather witty - comment by way of the ranger, "Don't you ever wash your clothes, Strider? I mean, if I hadn't have actually *witnessed* you doing so, I would think that you never bathed yourself, even."  
  
But, as with Legolas, the wise northerner just flat-out refused to be baited, didn't even look up, just carried on scraping his boots - however, a wide and amused smile did appear on his stubbled face. But other than that, he made no sign that he had heard the auburn-topped halfling at all - and Pippin's irritation grew to a broil again. ~Why do they all have to be so damn mature?~ He'd *seen* Aragorn lose his temper with Legolas many a time, why did it not work on him? He was *far* more annoying than Legolas could ever hope to be.  
  
~I'm losing my touch~ Pip thought mournfully, and that thought panicked him somewhat.  
  
He squared his shoulders, determined to get a reaction from someone, and turned his mind to Gimli. He didn't really want to be forced to do this - Gimli was becoming a great friend to him, as all the fellowship were, but the dwarf in particular stood up for him in times of need when the rest of them ganged up - on the other hand, desperate times call for desperate measures. He now called out at the dwarf, who was sat on a small slab of rock, chin resting on the upturned shaft of his largest axe, and very nearly succeeded in his task. "Gimli, I was wondering, why *did* you cut off all Legolas' hair."  
  
The dwarf froze, as did the rest of the fellowship - Legolas' cheeks and ears pinkened slightly before he returned his attention with a regal sniff back to his arrows, as if he hadn't heard anything, but Gimli flushed bright red and cleared his throat, averting his eyes away from everyone's stare - and three wide, identical grins formed on the faces of Aragorn, Merry and Boromir as their eyes lighted with mischievious amusement. All knew how much the moment of weakness still niggled at the dwarf's mind - and how bitter Legolas really was under all that maturity and higher-path rubbish.  
  
"I mean," Pippin continued digging; he was getting somewhere, "It seems to me to be a rather foolish thing to do - *especially* for a *dwarf*."  
  
He held his breath, waiting for the outcome - he might get beaten into the ground but, oh my, would it be funny. But he noted after a moment that none had come. Peregrin, his older cousin and the two distracted men all waited patiently for some sort of fireworks display, some entertainment at last, but none arrived! How very disappointing!  
  
The rusty-headed dwarf just turned his head slowly, fiery-beard twitching, and fixed Pip with dark, and yet frustratingly good-natured, eyes and then proceeded to pointedly ignore him, turning back to his own thoughts and leaving the hobbit with nothing! No reward at all! The Took breathed out an angry sigh and, deciding to disregard the snickers coming from the annoying elf in the tree above him, went back to brooding. All that work had been for nothing - he could have had a heart-attack with the tension of it all, and still not get what he deserved!  
  
~Hang about~ he thought suddenly, and an idea sprung to him. He turned straight away to Gandalf, mouth open to remark upon something, anything he could find - for Mithrandir was the one person *sure* to be vexed by anything that particular halfling did or said - but he found with surprise that the wizard was already looking at him, eyebrows raised and arms folded, waiting for him. His deep blue eyes were fierce and had that dangerous look of a person not to be messed with, by anyone.  
  
And so, by complete coincidence, Pippin decided to *not* go down that particular road just at the last possible moment. ~And a good job, too~ he thought in retrospect ~Gandalf would have me on the ground and turned into something unnatural long before you gould say Bobs-your-uncle, Fanny's-your- aunt.... could have been dangerous~ So he looked to his feet again, as if they might have the answers writen upon them.  
  
Sam.  
  
Pippin's head snapped up immediately ~Of course!~ Samwise Gamgee was a brilliant victim for pranks; for the humble halfling would never strike out physically at you, but would just get madder and madder, the redness in his tanned cheeks growing, until the source of annoyance left him and he could vent his anger onto an innanimate object. Usually his weeds. And so, slightly amazed by his own ingenius, Pippin got up, and sidled casually over to the sleeping hobbit.  
  
As he neared, however, one fatal flaw in his plan made itself known at once... Frodo.  
  
The gentlehobbit glared up at him as soon as the cousin was within smacking- distance of his slumbering garderner. One slender hand curled protectively about Sam's blonde head as the Baggins stared daringly up at at Pip, large eyes ice-cold and fearsome as his dark brows drew down in instinctive aggression. Peregrin immediately considered re-thinking his original idea - for he knew how fast Frodo was, and was well acquainted with his elder cousin's effective forms of punishment. He backsped quickly and hovered just out of reach, pondering mildly the fact that Frodo was usually had such polite manners, was soft-spoken and kind, until he came into contact with either himself or Merry - and also, howe frightening the thin hobbit could make himself look when he wished to.  
  
"I am warning you, Peregrin Took, come near him and I'll..." Frodo trailed off, trying to speak his thoughts on this matter eloquently enough for his blockheaded relative to understand. "You see this foot?" he suddenly asked, indicating said appendage, "You *know* as well as I that it has the ability to land you into next Tuesday if applied with the proper amount of force, so be warned."  
  
Pip gulped. ~Eeeep~ he thought, but he was too far gone, now - there would be no saving him, he had to do what he had to do. He wondered vaguely whether he had a will. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Merry put his head into both hands in pity, but he decided to ignore this slightly foreboding gesture. "Me? I'm not doing anything," he protested shrilly as he edged closer, voice betraying his nervousness.  
  
"This is bad, right?" whispered Aragorn anxiously to Meriadoc as Frodo's eyes narrowed dangerously once more at Pip's innocent words. Boromir also leaned in, wishing to know whether any of his fellows would be harmed *too* seriously.  
  
"Oh, yeah," said the young Brandybuck softly, eyes never straying from his three friends, lifting his chestnut head out of his hands to nod slowly, "This is bad." And the two men turned back to the unwinding drama, anxiety and excitement coursing through them.  
  
There was a stand-off going on between the halflings. Pippin glanced up into the branches of the sycamore - Legolas usually prevented much damage being done to him in such situations, and the Took had gotten used to having his Elven-bodyguard, whatever he said otherwise. But the prince was conveniently looking in the other direction to the proceedings, and Pip's eyes, seeing this, narrowed with suspicion - it was very coincidential that while everyone else was watching what was happening, the one person who would even think about saving him was looking the *other* way! Mayhap he had underestimated Legolas even furthur, and the elf *did* take revenge when it suited him. ~Damn that misleading haircut of his!~ he thought wildly, desperate to blame a being other than himself.  
  
And so, knowing full well that he was all alone with no support, Peregrin nevertheless set out bravely to do what he had intended, and he took another, faltering step forwards, sighing deeply at the bleakness of it all.  
  
Frodo's eyes gleamed, mildly astounded that his cousin was even tempting this fate. "Don't do it, Pip - you know you'll regret it."  
  
Oh, Pippin knew, he knew that all too well. The young halfling gulped and wiped his hand across his sweating brow - the jeopardy getting a bit too much for him all of a sudden. And decided that the time was now. He looked round at the rest of the fellowship, who were all leaning forward slightly where they sat, eyes round as dishplates. He then looked back at Samwise, paused and took a huge breath in...  
  
"*SAM!!!*"  
  
The garderner jolted awake at once at Pippin's bellow, thinking that his master was in danger somehow. But Frodo was right there beside him... or not, because now he was away at the other end of the camp, chasing an auburn-coloured, wildly-laughing streak of a hobbit. Samwise felt incredibly confused, and put a hand to his head as he glanced to Aragorn, who shrugged - what in mushrooms had just happened?  
  
The fellowship laughed loudly, none tempted to moving as muscle as Frodo caught up with his cousin, and Pippin paid dearly for his fun. Legolas even looked down from the saftey of his tree with a broad grin - leaving the Took to fight this one out on his own - it'd teach him for trying to get the better of an elf.  
  
Or a hobbit, for that matter - because as they watched on, Frodo executing his wrath perfectly, the message was clear to all: no one should mess with a Baggins... and most especially if you messed with their garderners.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Go on, review it... you know you want to! 


	9. Gandalf: Nanny to Fools

A/N: Hello to you all again, hope you're all well (always considerate of my reviewers, I am). I just realised a minute or so ago that the chapter after this is to be the final one of this little escapade and am in the process of coming to terms with that fact!  
  
Artemisa: I *know* I want to keep writing this long, long time, and have no idea what I'm going to do when I don't have this collection of works to keep coming back to and adding little bits to when I have no work to be getting on with (or when I'm *avoiding* said work, rather succesfully, might I add)... I love this story: it was the first I really did... I'm going to miss it. And all of you, as well - you have to come with me when I do other stories! I'm not brave enough to go it alone! I'm all upset now...  
  
This shall cheer me up though, I am going to scold one of you... Starlit Hope! Nice to know I'm so memorable to you! - did you not even click that you'd heard my name before when you read those other things? LOL, it's okay, you are forgiven... but only because it made me chuckle ;D  
  
And Sirith: Divn't be frettin' aboot yesell, pet (Translation of the uninteligable Geordie dialect: 'Don't worry, my friend') - writer's block eventually leaves, and I, for one, will wait for your next chapter for as long as it takes! I'll just store my pitchforks away in a corner somewhere... *shifts offending pieces of metal and wood oblidgingly* As for the time issue, I know exactly what you mean, you'll see why after I've said this one thing -  
  
- Right, until now, I believe I've been a bit of a dark horse regarding facts about myself... not really giving anything away in my bio and the such, but seeing as I am so appreciative to ya'll for sticking with me through this musical I call a fic, you'll be the first to own this knowledge... the time issue: I have it also... all this coursework has suddenly been dumped on me by *all* my teachers at once, and not only do I believe I'm losing my mind with stress, I have almost NO time to myself at all... also, I have a chest infection, which is just dandy. But just so long as you deliver eventually, Sirith, I won't be holding it against you, 'cause I'm in the same boat, hinney!  
  
So, you may have picked up upon my age and location from that little tidbit - yes, I live in the extreme, windy North of England, as close to Scotland as is physically possible to be without actually *being* in it, and yes, I am reletively a very young person, all plukes and insecurities (but it must be said that I am NOT a sophomore, or whatever you call it: here it's Year 9, I can assure you I am definately older than Starlit Hope!) I don't really see how you all hadn't seemed to twig until now that I'm a young 'un - or maybe some of you have and just didn't say - and I hope I haven't misled you, or that you'll suddenly stop reading my stories because I'm not an adult... or that I've just made a complete fool of myself right then and you all already knew I was only a teenager by my wording and childlike writing skills etc... hmmm....  
  
I'm worried now, but also madly intrigued... All right, hands up who knew I'm not even legal to drink yet? (And if you think I'm joking, I'm not - when you review, I want to know whether you had an inkling!)  
  
Erm, yes well, enough of my insecure tangent... Here's the next chapter of this saga, it might be a little long, and is really two vignettes for the price of one, 'cause I have a very precise idea for my last chapter, but couldn't bear *not* to have the second half of this, so I cheated a tad...  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Gandalf: Nanny to Fools ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Gandalf the Grey sniffed slightly as he glanced up at the Sun, disappearing steadily as she did behind the tops of the trees surrounding them - and he realised with a groan that he'd have to get his fellowship up and ready soon enough, and knew that it would be fun, to be sure. As if trying to delay the inevitable for as long as physically possible, the wizard brushed back his long, silver hair into a loose ponytail with his gnarled hands and bound it tight with a strip of leather, he then stood, smoothed down his shimmery-blue robes for the riddance of invisible creases, and made his way reluctantly over to the fellowship-pile.  
  
To say that the company of nine had bonded during the beginnings of their quest seemed to Gandalf to be a huge understatement - and this was reflected in how they all slept now, collected together and overlapping comfortably. The wizard shook his grey head with amusement and allowed himself a small smile; never in any millenia had he expected such a tight brotherhood to have been formed between the group, especially when he had looked over them all in turn at Elrond's council, near-despairing, believing them all to be too much like chalk and cheese for them to get on. But he was gladdened that they all had proven him wrong most brilliantly, and these bonds had appeared - whether it be eternally blood-strong with some members, or the cautious, wary beginnings between others - for he sensed that this feeling of close family and the caring for each other would be tested to their limits in the coming times, and it was imperitive to all of Middle-earth that the bonds be strong to start of with.  
  
But whether they be comrades or not, they could all be very beastly when one wanted them awake.  
  
Gandalf sighed as he tried to figure out who he should wake first, who's limbs belonged to who and the such. ~They're like a set of standing dominoes~ he mused vaguely as he stroked his long beard absently, and it became clear to him that to wake all others successfully, he should have to find the ringleader first and set off a chain reaction of some sort. He took a step back, so as to see the situation better.  
  
Now, the being closest to him was the auburn-topped hobbit Peregrin Took, lying on his side buried, face-first, into the warm chest of his cousin, Meriadoc, who was all stretched out, legs sprawled out at odd angles. The elder halfling had one arm draped across Pip's narrow back, and the other behind his head. And Merry's chestnut head was being pillowed by something else as well - the small of Gimli's back... that was it. The dwarf was lying on his front, rusty hair fanned out like flames upon his back and across the ground around him, snoring loudly and even grumbling quietly in his slumber. Gimli in turn had his head pressed comfortably against Boromir's left side. The Steward's son himself was lying flat out, head thrown back and throat open, though he did not snore, one arm slung over his own face to shield him from the formerly-bright daylight. Strewn haphazardly across his legs were another pair of appendages, and they belonged to... Gandalf squinted into the young evening... Frodo!  
  
The wizard paused momentarily as he realised what he had been doing and sighed, rolling his dark-blue eyes at the absurdity of it all before going back to his task. He couldn't believe he was having to mentally go through each fellowship member to discern who was who. It was like he was the nanny to fools or something.  
  
The young Baggins of course slept alongside Samwise, who was curled up happily at the booted-feet of Boromir and Legolas, turned, as always, towards his master even in sleep. Frodo himself seemed to be in some sort of obscure cradle, both ends tipped up so he sank down in the middle, arms folded, chin on chest - his legs were elevated by Boromir's own and his dark head was resting lightly upon the crossed, green legging-clad legs of Legolas Greenleaf.  
  
The elf was also sleeping on his back, comfortably close to the Gondorimm, mouth closed and sliver-green eyes open but half-lidded in his fatigue, pupils as small as pin-heads, one hand pressed typically to the ground beneath him and the other placed lightly - not upon his heart as usual, but upon his best friend's forehead. Aragorn was using Legolas dismissively as a pillow as he often did on such occaisions, head resting heavily upon the fair elf's flat stomach, and slept at a right angle to the prince, slightly curled up on his side with his hands under each armpit as if cold and knees drawn up protectively to his chest. ~That'll do his back no good~ noted the wizard, but disregarded the worry of the hard ground and the seemingly- uncomfortable angle the ranger's head was placed at with a shake of his silver head. Blankets were partially-covering all of them, but had all gotten dislodged during the day and were now mostly wedged in between the still bodies of the sleeping fellowship.  
  
Gandalf frowned as he thought, and decided that the best chain reaction would be set off if he got Legolas up first. For that would then get Aragorn up immediately, because if his cushion was taken away he'd awaken... and the northerner was possibly the hardest person to get up in the evening despite his maturity, intellect and unquestionable-skills as a ranger - if he saw no danger or need for a rush, he bloody well took his time about such things, savouring the rarity that was him waking up of his own accord. Also to be wakened immediately would be Frodo, who would be jolted when the elf used his lower limbs - Samwise, then, would also be wide awake at once at the slightest stir of his master, and the young Baggins would then predictably set about getting his younger cousins up, so that Gandalf would not have to do it with less sympathetic ways and means.  
  
Legolas, the wizard knew for a fact, wouldn't be able to resist prodding Boromir as he slept, so that awakening was taken care of as well because Boromir would seek retribution pretty swiftly - it may lead to a small skirmish, but Gandalf was surprisingly willing to make that sacrifice, for the good of the fellowship, of course. And Gimli was pretty fair about waking up anyway - the dwarf only grumbled, he did not flatly refuse to get up as the rest of his companions did.  
  
Now, Gandalf was no monster, and he decided he was feeling generous enough to give his fellowship ample time to wake by themselves up satisfactorily. So he called softly, almost under his breath, a mere whisper on the wind, "Wake up, lads - it's time to go." He stood silent for a second, listening and then, sensing no response, went and crouched down beside Legolas' golden head. The wizard paused momentarily and then tapped the prince lightly on the shoulder, and watched as Legolas frowned shallowly but then seemed to make the choice to ignore him. Gandalf scowled and tapped again, more forcefully this time, and the elf groaned and frowned even deeper, green eyes coming vaguely into focus as he squinted at the sky, annoyed at being awakened at all.  
  
"Up, Dian Las, quickly now - time's wasting," Gandalf encouraged the young elf brightly to get up as he had done when Legolas was an elfling, in two minds as to whether he hoped the prince would obey him or not, for he had something planned if his friend did not.  
  
Legolas looked up at him as though he were mad. "Are you mad?" he asked hoarsely, usually-smooth voice as rough as a ranger's for some reason, a sleep-deprived sharpness colouring the normally soft-spoken and pleasant tones.  
  
Gandalf rolled his eyes ~Should have guessed~ he thought. "No, I am perfectly sane, I am no dottard yet, I'm afraid - but we have to press onwards this night... we *need* to have a quick start."  
  
The elf looked up at him wearily, as if he couldn't believe what Gandalf was saying to him, and he indicated the sky weakly with his elbow, "Evening hasn't even fallen yet, Mithrandir - and I'm going to go back to sleep until it does." And with that, he turned his fair face away, and shifted slightly so he was facing more to Aragorn and less to Gandalf, and promptly fell back away from reality into his elvish world of dreams.  
  
~Right you are, elf~ Gandalf thought ~This calls for measures I would not usually wish to take on someone I have known all their life - but you drove me to do it, just remember that~ He got out his pipe from his leather belt, and lit up. He waited until he had fostered a great smoke, inhaled, and then blew it with purpose into the sleeping face of the fair prince.  
  
It took a moment for Legolas to react, but when he did - well, it was worth waiting for. He breathed in deeply at exactly the right moment, inhaling a huge amount of the thick, blue-coloured, putrid-tasting smoke. His green eyes widened comically, eyelids flying open at once and flashing silver, and he was up in less than a second, coughing and spluttering, tendrils of the smoke slowly exiting his lungs from his flared nostrils and the corners of his mouth. Gandalf noted - with maybe a little more pleasure and satisfaction than he should have done - that Aragorn's dark head hit the floor with audible *THUMP* when his pillow leapt to it's feet, and that the ranger seemed more than a tad put out by this. The wizard was slightly less pleased that poor Frodo had been thrown to the ground during the action, a rude wake-up call for him on all fronts. ~Still, it could not be helped~ reasoned Gandalf.  
  
Legolas was now choking on his own breath, doubled up and struggling to inhale clean air, one hand pressed to his chest, and the other waving frantically in the air at nothing. By now the rest of the company was awake, Legolas' hawking (and most unprincely) gags being far too noisy a disturbance to sleep through. Frodo, of course, was already beside the prince, trying the help him, though he had no idea what was wrong nor how to aid his friend, so he ended up just rubbing Legolas' narrow back helplessly as the elf fell weakly to his hands and knees. The other hobbits were collecting themselves together, pretty much ignoring the archer's plight, though Boromir was mildly interested, gazing at the proceedings through bleary, half-mast golden-brown eyes that were still unfocused and full of sleep-dust. Gimli was grumbling predictably, but chuckling at Legolas as well as Merry and Pippin, who had begun arguing as soon as their eyes and mouths had opened, continuing some disagreement from the night before, about the quality of some of the young lady-hobbits from their homeland, and which were up to scratch.  
  
The elf seemed now to be slightly recovered from his fit of coughing, now gagging only occaisionally, holding his sore ribs with both hands and getting up unsteadily from his knees, enough to wave the dark-haired halfling who had helped him up away kindly with a smile of gratitude, and throw a quite startlingly-intimidating silver glare at his former wizard friend. Gandalf raised his bushy eyebrows innocently, and shrugged his broad shoulder, helping Merry pull on his jerkin and smoothing down the hobbit's chestnut curls, "I did tell you to get up, Dian Yir, it's your own fault that you paid no heed to the words of a wise old wizard who knows more than you do."  
  
Legolas could only glare at him darkly in answer - Mithrandir being one of the few beings he respected enough to admit that they knew a whole lot more than him, and that was something to admit for a proud elf such as he. Ignoring the wizard who was collecting the company together and aiding them to get themselves ready for a fresh night, he went to sit back down heavily beside the sleepy Boromir who was sat cross-legged, still swathed in blankets, and the unmoving Aragorn, who had not shifted a muscle in all of these proceedings, grumbling such things as: "Well, I am up now, surprisingly," and coughing occaisionally.  
  
"You could at least bother to ask me of my hale, Estel," Legolas groused after a moment of silence, and prodded his best friend, who seemed to have slept the whole way through the incident. "I get more sympathy off of those blasted twin brothers of mine than off of you, sometimes," he shifted himself, crossing his arms as if cold and leaning into Boromir's right side, clearing his throat once again, still tickilish, as it was, from the unfamiliar irritation of the smoke.  
  
Aragorn's answer was short and clipped for some reason, and he still didn't move, "I shall ask it of you later, Legolas, if it so troubles you that much."  
  
"Well, it'll be of no use to me then, will it? At least Arianduil and Andariun would ask me how I was *after* they had finished teasing me," Legolas wasn't really all that bothered, just bored and tired and irritable. It suddenly processed in his mind how unusual Aragorn was acting - the ranger was normally most sympathetic when it came to his elven friend. As something seemed to click in his mind, he immediately uncrossed his arms and bent over his prone friend, "Oh! Estel, I'm so sorry - I didn't even think... is it bad this time?"  
  
"Quite," the northerner answered between gritted teeth.  
  
Boromir looked across at this, intrigued, and Frodo had overheard this and came over as well. "What's wrong, Strider?" Frodo asked, concern colouring his quiet tone and making his huge blue eyes all the more earnest. The ranger was still lying on his side with his knees tucked up to his chest - there seemed to be no moving him, either.  
  
Legolas looked up, and guilt shot a silver streak through his green eyes, "Quite some time ago, Estel and I were up this tree in Imladris' garden and, well... to cut a long story short, Estel fell out of the tree and landed on his back... It must have displaced a couple of things, because..."  
  
"The damned elf pushed me," stated Aragorn, keeping his head resolutely pressed against the ground and his spine as still as possible. "He just never mentions *that* part." He grinned upwards, showing he meant no harm, at the prince who grimaced and blushed, having the grace, at least, to look guilty. It had been an area of great shame for Legolas, who had not meant for such a thing to happen on that day so long ago, and something he still apologised for to this very day. "My back gives me jip from time to time, especially when I sleep awkwardly," the ranger explained, trying to set both Frodo and Legolas at ease.  
  
"Awkwardly, my ears," smiled Legolas, though his silvery eyes were still anxious, "you had a cushion of the very finest calibre, I'll have you know." Aragorn chuckled, and could hear Gandalf laughing at what he heard in the distance, out of his rather-limited eyeline. His best friend crossed to his other side and began, without question ot furthur discussion, rubbing at the tight muscles of the small of the ranger's back with his skilled, slender hands, as if he had gone through these motions many times before.  
  
Frodo watched this, greatly interested, as it seemed the elf had the hands of a healer - Aragorn's face became less strained and he sighed with relief quietly. "What are you doing there, Legolas?" he asked, as Sam came and stood close beside him, happy to be escaping Merry and Pippin's teasings over his Rose Cotten and Gandalf's fussing with his pack.  
  
Legolas glanced up at them, eyes amused and hands still working and kneading his soul-brother's back as if of their own accord. "Why, I am simply doing my duty, Frodo," he stated simply with a raised eyebrow. "'Twas, after all, the fault of mine that Estel landed on his back in the first place - it is only courteous that I do all I can to ease his suffering." He looked down at Aragorn's face a moment, the northerner had his eyes closed and looked to have gone back to sleep. "You *are* suffering, aren't you, Estel?" he asked with a wry smile and a mock-serious tone.  
  
"Excrutiating," replied Aragorn sleepily. His back still did hurt him a fair bit, but Legolas seemed to have mastered a technique over the years of massaging the muscles of his back unlike any other - even his foster- father, Lord Elrond - and the prince's agile hands always soothed the pain and tightness in Aragorn's stiff back away almost in an instant.  
  
"If you *dare* let that lad go back to sleep, Dian Las, I shall have your pretty golden head!" cried Gandalf, having looked across from where he crouched beside Gimli and the two younger hobbits and realised what was happening. "It takes me long enough to get him up and ready without you sending him into a slumber straight afterwards!"  
  
Legolas quickly withdrew his hands at Gandalf's tone and folded them obediently in his lap, sitting back on his heels at once and looking to the floor as if scolded. If he still had his long, fair locks, their bangs would have fallen forwards in front of his shoulders to hide his his pink- tinged face and tapered ears - as it was, Frodo and Sam could see the muscles in his long neck flex as he angled his head downwards. Boromir chuckled at the antics of his friends and the elf's endearingly-childlike behaviour and, having banished all thoughts of continued-sleep from his mind once and for all, disgarded his warm blanket and stood, intending to help up the prone ranger, who now looked a lot better than he had before. Aragorn however, proud as he was, waved away this helping hand with gracious smile, and began to gingerly pull himself up on his own. He moved his long legs first, and ignored the twinges and creakings of his spine as much as he could. After much pain and the annoying spasms of his muscles, he finally stood - perhaps not as straight-backed as usual, but he still stood.  
  
His best friend stood himself up too, and began - as a small token of an apology - to gather both his and Aragorn's packs and belongings together. When he held both full bags in his hands, he looked to Aragorn for a moment, silvery-green eyes wide and sincere. The ranger shook his head quickly, and then grimaced and cursed his own forgetfulness when it came to injuries... he was not only the Lord of Impeccable Timing, but the Master of the Diversionary Tactic - many a time had he managed to make everyone about him forget that he had an injury and convinced them to tend to Legolas or Elrohir, usually (who he generally believed were in a worse shape when they came back from a situation than he was), and then forgotten himself, only to be reminded hours later when he blacked-out unexpectedly at his father's dinner-table or something. It was just the selfless person he was.  
  
And he would not let Legolas blame himself again for this unfortunate affliction. He reached for the pack, only to have Legolas pull it away from his grasp and swing it at once over his narrow shoulders along with his own. Aragorn looked questioningly at him, but the prince merely raised a single golden brow as if daring the ranger to say something or laugh at him, before turning and heading off in the direction of Gandalf, who looked as though he were about to spit on a handkerchief and rub a but of smut from Peregrin Took's nose, much to the halfling's gall.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Legolas was, once again, up a tree.  
  
It was Meriadoc's whim, this time, that had him again up in the leafy branches he loved so - the halfling, surprisingly observant when it came to items of food, had spotted some bright, shining apples high up in a tree the fellowship had been passing, and had commented on them repeatedly and increasing in sound until Gandalf had deigned to stop, but *only* because they were due for a break anyways. And Legolas had been elected to fetch said apples. The dawn had broken about an hour's half ago, and the sky was streaked with the Sun's pale light - the fellowship had been walking pretty much all night. Merry could be forgiven for craving apples, surely?  
  
The nine were now at various stages of exhaustion, and yet Gandalf was convinced he could press them just a little bit furthur before he was forced to carry Pip - they had to get on, even in the daytime. But for the moment, he let them all rest, for even Legolas and Aragorn were showing sings of increasing sluggishness. Not that, looking at either of them, anyone other than he, their fathers or each other, would see.  
  
Boromir of Gondor was sat wearily with a drowsy Frodo and a quiet and yawning Sam upon a large log, talking lightly of things that concerned none, Gimli was leaning his tired back against a stone with his heavy axe set down on the ground beside him. Aragorn was washing his face and neck in the fairly wide and deep stream they had stopped next to, as if to try and wash some of the listnessness away and make him fully alert once more, and Merry and Pip were stood, necks twisted upwards, directing the elf who was up the huge apple tree.  
  
"Just a little to the left... No! Legolas, *my* left - that's it... no the big one, *big* one!" Merry had both hands cupped around his mouth as he shouted up his preferences to the prince, who then obediently plucked the apples from their places and chucked them down to land acurately in a small, neat pile beside the two hobbits. Gandalf could't believe how accomodating the prince was for the hobbits he adored so - any other making the Greenleaf fetch things and practically serve upon them would be stone- dead as soon as he looked at them.  
  
"Perhaps, Meriadoc," Legolas' fair - but annoyed - voice floated down to the pair tersely, "*you* would like to come up here and get the apples you desire - and are good enough for you to eat, of course - yourself, if you think you can do a better job."  
  
That shut the young Brandybuck up rather quickly, and he lowered his hands, but not before he muttered to his best friend who stood beside him, holding the elf's heavy bow, "I probably *could* do a better job, and all."  
  
Not in a million years did he dream that Legolas would hear him - he had not yet worked out the full extent and range of the elf's skills, especially in the practice of seeing and hearing all - and so was fully unprepared when an apple came hurtling down from the canopy above, and smacked him squarely on the head. He glared upwards, rubbing the sore spot on top of his head, but could not see the prince, and so perhaps Greenleaf was spared having a chestnut-hole bored into him. "*Whoops!*" came the fair voice from high-atop, perhaps a bit too innocent to be wholly believable. "Sorry, Merry, missed the pile, there - what were you saying?"  
  
Of course, it was just plain impossible for the elven archer of such renowned skill to his name and battles to his young years, to miss his mark - ergo, Merry surmised that the apple had probably not been that much of an accident.  
  
Pippin, who had chortled heartily at the elf's actions, was Legolas' next victim - he got an offending piece of fruit right in the back of his curly- auburn head. The force behind it fair nearly floored him, and he let out a squealing yelp of pain. Boromir, hearing this, looked across and rolled his golden-brown eyes as he worked out what was happening, just wishing for some peace at some point that day. "Cease that, elf, before I make you," he called up wearily.  
  
An apple shooted across to him, almost - and impossibly - horizontal, miraculously missing both Frodo and Samwise sitting next to the Gondorimm, and caught the Steward's son right in the belly. It seemed Legolas was on the move silently through the branches, for Boromir was a good few feet away from Merry and Pippin. The winded Boromir picked himself up from behind the log, and threw a 'Help!' sort of look in the direction of Gandalf who had, until that point, been chuckling.  
  
"Come now, Dian Las, enough of this childishness," he called up, deep voice amused but stern.  
  
Now, Legolas was not an elf who liked being called childish - though, having said that, not many did, and especially those of the Mirkwood Royal clan - and he was still bitter about the prank that had been pulled on him the evening before, it having rather bruised his dignified pride. And so he answered his friend of years innumerable simply by bowling an apple at full force towards the wizard. But by some elvish grace and mischief or some wizarding magic of sorts, the piece of fruit curled in mid-air, traveling smoothly around Gandalf, avoiding him, before taking up it's original line of fire once more, as if nothing had altered it.  
  
The apple hit Aragorn in the back of his dark head, almost toppling him into the stream. "Hey!" he shouted with umbridge.  
  
A burst of joyous laughter was heard from above in the apple tree, the glee and mirth communicated making smiles in the other fellowship members' faces irrepressible, sending most of them beaming at the mere sound of hilarity the sprightly Wood elf had discovered. Another apple was launched almost immediately, clipping the ranger's cheek sharply just as he stood and turned round. Aragorn's reaction to this was so amusing - and to Legolas in particular - that the others just laughed loudly when another apple hit him on the shoulder, and then another in the chest, and again on the head and on his nose. He seemed to dance as each missile hit him, jumping from foot to foot in an effort to doge the apples and avoid the pain with which each piece of fruit hit him - Legolas was putting some force behind them, and was enjoying himself too much to stop or go easy on the poor ranger, even moving through the branches to get Aragorn at all angles.  
  
Only when a veritable pile of apples had been built up around the harassed northerner, and when enough bruises had been sent well on their way to appearing, Gandalf called a halt to the proceedings in a very interesting manner, believing it the fair thing to do between the two beings who were acting like foolish school-children.  
  
Legolas, through no fault of his own, fell suddenly from the high apple tree, having been pushed hard by some sort of invisible force.  
  
It was as though the world had suddenly become slower as the elf fell with his back to the ground, his arms flailed slightly and his long neck stretched out and backwards to it's fullest extent, turning his body in mid- air. Legolas whirled a full, skillful somersault with amazing grace, and managed, incredibly, to land like a cat on both his feet between Aragorn and the large stream. Frodo thought he might have become simply a bag of nerves in the few seconds that had just passed - he was shaking and couldn't believe that the prince had come to no harm, for the tree had been high, and Legolas had been completely unsuspecting. Boromir could only breathe out sharply in reaction.  
  
Legolas looked just as shocked as everyone else - very rarely did Wood Elves such as he fall from their trees - and he just turned his fair head in disbelief towards the wizard, seemingly astounded that Gandalf had even done such a thing. Aragorn, however, used this stunned pause and the helpful postion of the elf to his advantage.  
  
Aragorn hurled himself at his motionless best friend.  
  
*SPLASH!* Both brothers were propelled into the stream behind them. This broke the silence from before, and the company either fell about, or leapt to their feet.  
  
Legolas had immediately stood up, and was flinging water from his large eyes with his fingers, mouth wide and gasping like a fish, soaked to the very skin. Aragorn was emerging from the water beside him, also wet by triumphant and gleeful - he had exacted his revenge for the apple incident, and was more than a bit pleased with himself. Legolas could only sputter apoplectically in fury, trying to communicate just a fraction of his ire through recognisable words, but failing... however the fellowship, and Aragorn in particular, understood perfectly. Aragorn began, very quickly and wisely, to try and extract himself from the water that may or may not have started bubbling and boiling as Legolas' silver-shot eyes hit the ranger and took on a look unlike either the hobbits or Boromir had ever witnessed before in them before.  
  
All the fellowship saw of Aragorn as he tried to escape his best friend's unbelievable wrath, was his hand gripping on desperately to the grass at the bank-side, before he was engulfed by water as he was dragged down by the irate elf. They heard "*Lego-wggurlw!*" and then a tremendous splashing sound.  
  
Gandalf chuckled, and turned to his company, feeling his work there was done. He saw the incredible looks on Frodo and Sam's faces in particular, and remarked casually, "You know, when Legolas is not near Aragorn, he is one of the most graceful, calm and mature beings gracing this earth, not that you'd say that to see him when he and his best friend come together."  
  
Sam shook his dirty-blonde curls in disbelief, "I'd say he'd have to be the most elegant in the worlds when not with Strider, then, if how he is now is considered clumsy and graceless." Frodo's shocked expression changed as he smiled softly at his garderner's simple words, and clasped Sam's rough hand fondly, feeling cheer so much more easily whenever he was with his best friend.  
  
Gimli and Boromir were stood side by side, watching the churning action going on in the stream with complete numbness, as if they were trying to work out in their minds all of what had just happened. They gave up, and went to sit down beside Merry and Pippin, who were helpless with laughter, and mildly pleased with themselves for starting the whole escapade off in the first place.  
  
After a time, Legolas pulled himself, sopping, from the stream, and walked slowly to the fire that had been prepared by Samwise, with his shorn, golden head held high and the last shreds of his elven dignity held hoplessly intact. The air about him zinged like lightening; nobody dared speak. Following him came a slighltly worse for the wear Aragorn, who just shook himself off like a dog after a bath, and made to sit by the fire also.  
  
Not a word was spoken, and the remaining company seemed to be holding their breath as all eyes were upon the pair, who were not looking up. Something was going to happen, they all could feel it, how could something not when Legolas was so tense? So they all just waited patiently for something to happen. It took some time, but finally it did. Aragorn, ignoring completely the alarmed warning looks shot his way by seven members of the fellowship, set about getting out his long pipe, he then filled it, lit it, inhaled and blew the smoke innocently and without heed into the clenched face of his best friend.  
  
There was silence for one fleeting moment where no one moved, and then Legolas launched himself at Aragorn's throat.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Aha! I love the last half of this chapter and wrote it completely for my own enjoyment - review and tell me I should never write stuff for my own amusement ever again! 


	10. Samwise: Eternal Optimist

A/N: *Sob*... last chapter folks - will explain why and thank you all at the end. You all rocked as reviewers the whole way through this collection of vignettes and I hope you'll stick with me!  
  
Hope you like this... I went for the more 'slathered-with-sentimentality' approach than is usual for me, inspired by Sam's little speech at the end of The Two Towers that always, ALWAYS moves me to sobs, and makes one of my friends (who I *always* seem to end up watching LOTR with for some reason) laugh at me. Ah well, it's a beautiful little number, and I've tried to show how Sam's the.... beacon of hope to the rest of the fellowship. A nice ending, I feel, and hope you do to.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Samwise: Eternal Optimist ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
The fellowship were utterly, thoroughly and irreversibly miserable. They were soaked to the core and chilled to the bone; they were sleep-deprived and marrow-weary; they were hungry and irritable, humourless and vicious. And all that because of rain.  
  
The rain had started up about an three and a half hours ago... and had not stopped since. Not only had it not stopped, causing the company to have to halt for the time being, but it was freezing cold in itself, the sort of rain that would be hail if it were just a mite colder. Not that it needed to be any colder, mushrooms knew it was cold enough.  
  
So it seemed to the nine walkers that Middle-earth had temporarily been turned into some dank, washed-out watercolour painting, the edges running and blurred, and the subject moody. They were stuck with nothing to cheer them, and no end to the misery in sight. They could not even light a fire, for the rain had drenched everything it fell upon right through. Samwise Gamgee eyed his friends with growing concern, mind plodding steadily through the varied ways of how he could cheer any of them up. They sat in a small, disfigured circle, each thinking of their own things and in too foul a mood to talk much. Gandalf was trying in vain to start up his pipe under the cover of his large blue hat, which had a waterfall dripping off the sides of the brim - even resorting to using a little bit of magic in his desperation, only to find the weed too wet anyways - he was completely absorbed in this futile task, trying to take his mind off of the dreary turn of events. Gimli was huffing quietly to himself, head angled downwards - Sam was sure that the dwarf's face had been visible, it would have been frowning.  
  
Beside him was Boromir, laying back stiffly against a large boulder, water pooling upon his broad shoulders. At that moment, his mind was consumed in the notion of the amount of water that was beginning to soak through his water-proof leather tunic, but he was too weary to move and avoid such a thing. Leaning back on his numb legs at an angle were the small hunched figures of Merry and Pippin, the former feeling unnaturaly cold and having developed a nasty cough and stuffed nose from the day before where he had been knocked accidently into the stream by the apple tree though the childish antics of Aragorn and Legolas. Peregrin, on the other hand, was thinking of how he might just be starving to death - his stomach kept giving him nasty reminders about how hungry he truly was - a few hours ago, as the rain had started, Boromir, Legolas and Aragorn had had a whale of a time hunting this huge, majestic deer, the fun they had had rivalled only by the triumph they had felt upon catching it. They returned from their successful romp with broad, proud grins on all their faces, only to find a fire unable to be lit in order to cook their prize.  
  
Peregrin was idily wondering just how long it would be until he ate venison raw.  
  
At the other side of and leaning into Gandalf was Frodo, who was fairly cold and despondent, but not quite as miserable as the others. He had wrapped his cloak completely about him, as though trying to hide himself away from the rain, and pulled the collars of his jacket up and about his chin, giving him an unnaturally frail, sickly appearence as the brown velvet of the worn jerkin contrasted against his ever-pale skin, soaked ebony hair and ice-blue eyes. The gentlehobbit was willing to merely wait out this miserable period for as long as it took, and was quite happy to just sit quietly and think - though he could have done without all the rain they had been 'blessed' with.  
  
Next to the halfling sat Legolas and Aragorn together. The ranger sat with his knees apart and drawn up to his chest, and between his limbs sat the elf, leaning back comfortably against the strong chest of his best friend, frowning into the distance. It was a position the pair took to a lot of the time, almost as though they moved into it without thinking - it was obvious they had taken this postion many times along their former travels and adventures and disasters. Aragorn had his guarded forearms resting upon the prince's narrow shoulders, letting his hands hang down in front of the Legolas' chest while the elf had his long legs stretched out and his slender hands folded silently in his lap, scowling darkly at the sheeting rain as if to glare at it would make it leave them forever. Aragorn's dark hair was plastered to his head and completely straight, Legolas' golden hair, however, had grown quite a bit since Gimli's impromptue barbering (a lot faster than a mortal's would have done), so as it reached the nape of his long neck, just gracing his shoulders - but with the rain it was spiky and seperated, sticking up at odd angles from his head, making him look rather strange. He kept having to lick his lips or swipe away angrily at his face, the rivers running down through his long eyelashes and hanging in droplets off the end of his nose were quite annoying, and Aragorn kept wiping his face on the elf's shoulder. Both sets of eyes were fixed on nothing.  
  
Sam frowned slightly as he thought, his freckled face scrunching. There was no way he could let this down-hearted feeling carry on and discourage his fellowship or Mr. Frodo... there *must* be something he could do. He set out bravely, "Mr. Legolas, your hair seems to be growing back just fine, heh?"  
  
Legolas flashed him a quick half-smile, appreciating his efforts, but then went back to scowling into the distance, too vexed to help even Samwise out in his endevours.  
  
Sam frowned ~Well, that didn't really work, did it?~ He looked to Gandalf, trying again, "I reckon that weed'll dry out no problem, once the rain stops."  
  
Gandalf looked up at him coldly, dark blue eyes flashing, "Aye - *once* the rain stops."  
  
"Which it probably *never* will," added Pip mournfully, rubbing at his empty belly.  
  
Merry sneezed.  
  
Sam opened his mouth as though to say something, but found that he actually couldn't - there was nothing he *could* say to cheer his fellowship, so he closed his mouth and looked to his large, hairy feet instead. So he never saw Frodo's knowing look and small smile as he gazed upon his gardener - Sam didn't know he had succeeded in one instance. Frodo took pity on Samwise - knowing what the younger hobbit was trying to do, just going about it the wrong way; see the problem was that Sam was asking rather close-ended questions... barely leaving any room for discussion. Frodo's sharp mind concluded that the only way to cheer up the fellowship and get them speaking would be to draw them into debates of some sorts. Hs cast his eye around the company, and spotted Sam's chance. "What are you thinking of there, Pippin?" he asked, as if he didn't know.  
  
Pip answered immediately and without fault, "Food."  
  
Sam looked up, confused, until he spotted his master's bright eyes twinkling gently. He grinned, understanding his kind friend implicitly, and set out again on his idea, "What's your *favourite* food, Mr. Pippin?"  
  
This made Merry stop coughing and snuffling for a moment and look, mildly- interested, at his cousin, Boromir also turned his head slightly to hear the outcome, having nothing else to do. In fact, the whole of the fellowship had taken an interest in the topic - some a little half- heartedly, but that didn't really matter, just as long as they did. Pippin opened his mouth, and then paused, thinking steadily. Merry jumped into the pause with, "Mine's apples... in anything - pies, sandwiches, tarts - they're my favourite. Boromir, how about you?"  
  
"Steak," the warrior said without a doubt. Gimli nodded passionately at this, indicating that that was his favourite also, numerous droplets of water flying from his rusty-red beard as he did so. Boromir continued, bemusement obvious, "And *apple sandwiches*, hobbit?"  
  
Merry, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his coat - much to Frodo's disgust - nodded with a grin, "They're a delicacy in the Shire."  
  
Pippin snorted, "They are *not*! You only invented them a year or so ago - no one else eats them."  
  
At this, Aragorn called out, "Hobbits not eating things, can this be true?" Legolas chuckled softly from where he sat, and took more of an interest in the conversation than he had previously, turning about slightly. He lost the dry spot on his back that had been made with Aragorn's chest (which also became quickly soaked at the change in position) but he mused that it was going to be worth being in that conversation.  
  
"What's your favourite, Strider?" asked Sam, pushing the debate furthur eagerly - he decided he would do this until everyone either forgot about the rain, or it stopped... whichever came first.  
  
"Chicken - can't beat it in my books," the ranger said with a decisive nod that dislodged a pool of water from the top of his head so as it came craching down his face and he had to lift his arm from Legolas' shoulder to wipe it.  
  
"Legolas?"  
  
"Fish... a plate of smoked salmon is my absolute favourite dinner."  
  
"You know, I don't think I've ever had salmon... is it nice?"  
  
"Yes you have, Pippin, don't you remember Odovacar Bolger's umpteenth birthday party? You almost drank the stuff."  
  
"You can't *drink* smoked salmon, Merry..."  
  
"Frodo, it was a figure of speech!"  
  
And so the debates continued, taking on many different forms and varieties, some humourous, some ending in heated arguments, but all achieving Samwise's goal in getting the fellowship's minds off of their current situation. For at least a short while, all there temporarily forgot or disgarded the fact that they were still wet and chilled, and that the rain *still* fell all about them. In fact, it was only when conversations turned to the matter of ladies that the fellowship slipped back into melancholy silence again. The incident began as such:  
  
"So how's your Rosie, then, Sam?" Pippin asked slyly with a smile that was far too mischevious for Sam's liking upon his auburn-freckled face, green eyes alight and glinting.  
  
Sam blushed immediately red, and looked to his feet, "She aint *my* Rosie," he mumbled with embarrassment, thankful suddenly for the vast amounts of rain that still fell and cooled his heated cheeks.  
  
Boromir's ears almost seemed to prick up, "Rosie?" he asked, expression amusingly inquisitive - Frodo though Boromir almost looked like a small child when he was intrigued about something. When the warrior got no reaction off of Sam - except a further blushing of his apple-dimpled cheeks - he prodded Merry in the ribs, for the elder of the troublesome two could usually be relied upon to give more of the truth than Pip. "Merry, who is Rosie?"  
  
"Rose Cotton is Sam's galfriend," Merry stated excitedly, "and she's the fairest hobbit-lass in all the Shire."  
  
"Well, now," Pippin piped up his objections as though personally insulted, and pointed out with indignance, "That Diamond's no heiffer, is she?"  
  
Aragorn snorted at the hobbit's bluntness ~Pippin should be refered to as 'blunt-object' from here thereforth~ he mused, rolling his slated-grey eyes to the skies, and blinking into the downpouring rain. But in exclaiming his mirth, he inadvertantly drew the company's attention to himself - and he really rather wished he hadn't almost as soon as he realised all eyes were on him.  
  
"And we *all* know who's Aragorn's love, don't we?" cried Boromir, a wide grin spreading itself across his mirthful bearded face.  
  
"*Lady Arwen*," chorused Merry, Pippin, Boromir, Legolas and Gimli - even Gandalf and Frodo joined in slightly. Sam didn't, as he was still too busy trying to stop blushing.  
  
But Aragorn, however, was not easily embarrassed, and refused to blush in reference to his love which he held so proud and true to his heart - he and Arwen had struggled for others to recognise their love, and he wasn't about to be ashamed of it in front of those they had worked so hard showing. So he held his dark head up high in defiance, dark-grey eyes flashing dangerously. He turned on Boromir, who he believed had instigated the whole assault against his name - vengence would be his. "Well, at least I *have* someone of the fairer sex waiting for me when I return..." he stated catily.  
  
"Hey, I have someone to be getting back to and all, ruffian," Boromir called out with assurance, grinning.  
  
"Really?" Both younger hobbits turned in surprise to him, and Aragorn even leaned forward with a changed expression, not expecting the warrior to be able to contradict what he said. It seemed all the fellowship had been completely unaware that Boromir was attatched to anyone in that way. "Who?"  
  
"My wife," Boromir answered, frowning in confusion at their reactions - he thought he'd talked of her before.  
  
"You have a wife?" "I really did not know that!" "Why didn't you say so before?" An army of questions was volleyed at the poor Gondorimm, and he looked more and more like a coney caught in a lantern's light.  
  
"Well, I *did* say... I think... I thought I had - her name is Jolina, and she awaits my homecoming eagerly- " Boromir trailed off with a wide smile.  
  
"None of us knew about her," said Aragorn quietly, mildly shocked and disgusted with himself that he had not known about such a major part of his friend's life. He couldn't believe this. Boromir wore no band upon his finger, and Aragorn was sure he hadn't spoken of her before then - but he should have known anyway... right?  
  
"Actually," Legolas raised his hand. "I knew."  
  
Aragorn whirled on him, studying the pale face, "*You knew*? How? He hasn't said anything."  
  
Boromir was also mildly intrigued, "Yeah, how did you know, elf?"  
  
Legolas shrugged, "Well, you've got the golden ring on a chain about your neck... along with the silver one from your mother." The company turned as one to Boromir, who's face was just as amazed as the others. He slowly drew out the chain about his neck, not taking his golden-brown eyes off of the elf... and sure enough, there were two simple yet beautiful rings of different hues that jangled as they moved and clinked together. The company all looked back to the fair prince, jaws slack, but Legolas merely shrugged again, and murmured, "I thought it was pretty obvious, myself."  
  
That made Aragorn immediately angry for some reason - he *hated* it when Legolas knew something he didn't and then acted as though it was something everyone should know... granted he might be taking out the frusrations he felt at himself out on his best friend, but that wasn't the point! He jabbed the elf viciously in the ribs, "Yeah, you want to talk about obvious, let's talk about Evylenn, *shaaaall* we?" Legolas' face blanched white and the ranger continued, answering the questions before Merry and Pippin managed to ask them, and before his best friend could stop him. "She's a beautiful elf-maiden, mahogany curls, hazel eyes - one of the fairest in all of Mirkwood - and she and Legolas persist to dance about one another like a pair of prudes - everyone knows Legolas has her heart, but he just won't do anything about it... he's too chicken, you see," he finished triumphantly, grinning at the predictably wide, teasing smiles on the hobbit's faces, Gimli's roaring chuckles, and the prince's apoplectic stutterings.  
  
"I do *not* have Evy's heart!" Legolas finally managed to cry after a time, his usually-deep voice an octave or two higher than was natural, leaf- shaped ears tinged pink with flustered embarrassment as he fumbled over his words in his agitation. He turned about to stare at Aragorn, who had taken his forearms off of the prince's shoulders and was leaning back with them crossed smuggly to accomodate Legolas.  
  
"Yes you do," Aragorn stated with confidence and a definitive nod of his dark head. "Everyone knows of it."  
  
"*I* did not even know of it!"  
  
"Well, you're not renowned for your brightness are you, my prince?"  
  
"So, is Evy very beautiful, Legolas?" Sam asked loudly and pointedly, trying to diffuse the situation before Legolas could lunge at Aragorn as he had the day before over much less than a jest and question of his intelligence... Sam percieved it to be his own fault they had gotten onto this topic in the first place - he couldn't have anybody getting injured because of his bumbling efforts to help.  
  
Legolas' silver eyes softened immediately to a deep green and he smiled slightly, body deflating and untensing at once. Sam's simple question had stopped him in his tracks and potentially saved Aragorn. "Aye, she is - heart, body and soul." And with that he fell silent again, mind wandering the paths of Mirkwood with the part of his heart that still resided there... perhaps, if he returned to Mirkwood, he would speak with her over private matters... he ignored the huge grin on everyone else's faces, concentrating only on the one that would greet him when he got back to his home.  
  
In fact, all of the fellowship slipped into silence again when their smiles at Legolas gradually faded, their own minds taking to their homelands with their loved ones, or musing over small things. And the misery that had held such a grip on them all earlier began to creep up on them all again, feeding off their hearts and the wish of returning home when their quest was over.  
  
Pippin was counting all those hobbit-lasses who he would miss and already was missing... in more ways than one; Gimli was concentrating vaguely over the fact that he'd never even seen a woman-dwarf - at least, not that he knew of; and Boromir was wishing his Joline was with him to sooth away the numbness in his legs the way only she knew how. Frodo was thinking of Bilbo, and how much already he missed his elderly cousin, and whether he would ever see him laughing again; Merry was back with his clan in the great Brandybuck Halls; Aragorn's mind was filled completely with the beautiful face of the Undomiel and Legolas was thinking of what he might say to the fair Evylenn when he returned... *if* he returned, and was considering the daunting notion that he might never have a chance to say what he truly felt, and not just to Evylenn, but to his father and siblings as well. Gandalf was trying to calculate how long it would take for his weed to dry out, and Samwise was wallowing in the failure of his attempt to cheer everyone's spirits.  
  
Finally, he could not take it any longer, and he stood abruptly. "Look, we've *got* to keep our hearts up... if we start to falter in our hopes, we'll never get to where we're trying to go, and there'll be no point to *any* of this! All we've done and been through and faced already won't mean a blessed thing to anyone! And darkness such as those wraiths'll take over the Shire and our homes and our families - there'll be nowhere to hide. We *have* to keep our chins up, we have to ignore the rain and the clouds and the cold, and just keep on going, think about the Sun that's behind it all, behind the clouds. It's hard now, and it'll be hard again... but I *know* it'll get better... I know it..."  
  
Sam trailed off in hope as he noticed for the first time his friends' reactions to him and his heart's feelings. Boromir was looking down to his still-numb legs, ashamed that he had even been thinking of himself in times such as these - he had always been so selfless when it came to the rest of the fellowship, Sam knew he had nothing to be ashamed of. Merry and Pip's eyes were wide and wary - it was obvious they hadn't really taken in a word he'd said and were just in shock, startled by the outburst that had suddenly overtaken their quiet friend. Gimli cleared his throat, not uncomfortably though, and nodded towards his boots... he seemed to understand what Sam had been trying to say and take it in his short stride.  
  
The hobbit garderner then looked to Aragorn, who's mouth was uncouthly hung open in an unflattering picture of surprise as he sat up that little bit straighter, he seemed to be having trouble forming any words at all, which was rather unusual for him. Legolas, meanwhile, had his fair head tilted to one quizzically, green eyes narrowed in something opposite to suspicion, almost as if he were weighing Sam up, but then again, not so... Sam couldn't quite place it - a queer half smile was spread across the prince's handsome face and his eyes began to twinkle. He grinned suddenly as if he had reached a decision in his mind, nodded as Gimli had done, spraying water from his spiky golden hair, then calmly reached across to gently close Aragorn's bearded jaw with a snap.  
  
Gandalf set aside his still-unlit pipe, pulled himself up and stood next to Sam, placing a gnarled hand tenderly upon the halfling's small, soaked shoulder and squeezing it gently with a warmth that Sam could feel beaming down upon him from the wizard's deep, wise blue eyes. Some strange sort of pride filled Sam's heart at this simple gesture. The long silver beard twitched with barely-concealed amusement, dislodging the droplets of water that had hung as if on a spider's web there. The wizard kindly said, "Samwise is spot on, as always - we have been squalling in misery for quite long enough and our indulgence has been quenched for the time being - it is time to behave like the adults we are and move on. People are counting on us, and we are *not* about to let them down." And with that, he turned, picked up his pack, and then made as if to go.  
  
One by one, the fellowship pulled themselves and each other to their feet without another word, and followed Gandalf. As each companion passed Sam, they each patted him on the back, clapped him on the shoulder, or ruffled his hair, the affection and gratitude they felt for the young hobbit plain to all who saw. And Sam was left all alone, breathless. He looked up and his dark brown eyes immediately met those familiar ice-blue orbs of his master. They twinkled gently with fondness.  
  
"Well, Samwise, I must hand it to you - you are the eternal optimist, if I do say so," the gentle-hobbit chuckled.  
  
"I don't understand it, sir," Sam frowned, trying to run through the past thirty seconds or so in his mind, wishing to figure out what had just happened. "Alls I said was what was needed."  
  
"Yes," chuckled Frodo, smiling again his wonderful smile that was becoming far too much of a rarity in recent times. "Exactly." He reached out and pulled Sam into a tight hug of gratitude, always thankful that Sam was there on this journey with him. It was a hug that the garderner returned as best he could, awkward until he thought about the notion that this was exactly what his master needed, and had needed all along. He hugged back with equal fervour at once.  
  
Frodo pulled away, dipped his head again in thanks, dark curls bobbing, and then walked past, leaving poor Sam more bemused than ever. But things became hust that little bit clearer to him as he looked to where the fellowship were beginning to start their travels again, starting to walk away from their settlement of misery.  
  
Gimli trudging squarly at the side of Gandalf, looking intently at the wizard's long pipe as if to seek out a fault in it that prevented it from lighting as Gandalf talked to him. The height difference was comical, but somehow strangely normal, now. Behind them walked the trio of fast friends: Boromir, Aragorn and Legolas. The elven prince was in the middle of executing a pretty fair impression of his best friend's face at the end of Sam's speech as they walked, which Boromir was howling to and Aragorn was trying to look mildly offended at and failing miserably. Arms were being flung about animatedly and mouths were moving so fast they seemed to be a blur, all talking at once but listening to everything the others said. The way they usually talked.  
  
And behind them was walking Merry, Pippin and Frodo. Pip had both his arms flung high up and around the shoulders of his elder cousins, and had begun swinging from them on every other step, letting them carry him for short periods of time. Frodo obviously did not appreciate this motion, as he promtly jabbed the young, troublesome Took under his armpit, which made Pippin squeak and lose balance at once, falling to the floor in a heap. Merry and Frodo paused only to pick him back up again before they carried on walking, their conversation not having paused once, as if nothing extraordianry had happened.  
  
Sam chuckled, heart suddenly light - everything was how it should be again. The fellowship were in their cheerful dispositions once more, and could carry on for a fair while like that. They'd be okay, he knew it.  
  
Something perculiar made him squint up at the sky and, surprised, mumbled, "Would you look at that." It was no longer raining, and the Sun was beginning to shine herself behind the clouds that were being swiftly blown across the horizon, out of her path. Sam grinned again, brown eyes twinkling in his happiness. He jammed his hands into his pockets and began whistling a tune from the Shire as he followed his friends there and back again.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
End.  
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Well, folks... that's it - please review it; I hope I didn't fumble the ending or leaving you all disappointed. Let me know about the whole collection as well, if you want... even those who have never reviewed this before. I like to hear from you! I am gonna say something for everyone who reviewed in the last chapter, 'cause a whole load of you crawled out of the woodwork suddenly - I hope you in particular are gonna review this! Apologies to those of you who reviewed in earlier chapters and are still reading, but that's what you get for not reviewing regularly - I can't thank you so well now! You'll find a lot of answers in the following, as to why I am not continuing etc. So here goes!  
  
Pheobe - Thankyou so much, that's very touching. I have a permenant grin writing them! It's a bit of a cheat, really, because I just write what I want our fellowship to do, this whole collection of works is really just indulging myself! I hadn't heard from you before, so I dubb you ine of the 'Woodwork Crew'!  
  
Starlit Hope - One of my more avid followers, thanks for reading all my other things as well, hope you stick with me! Also, double- kudos for putting me on your fav. author list!  
  
Tinania Lindaleriel - Personal developments are my favourite bits as well, can you tell? ... Also I'm too scared to handle the big epics yet, but hopefully, one day!  
  
Lady Laswen - I can;t continue this, sorry! Loved hearing from you though! And cheers.  
  
Beth - Did you notice I put in the bit about Legolas' hair growing faster just for you? Consider it your reward for your constant reviews the whole way through this saga. My ego just keeps swelling with each and every one of your lovely reviews! I would love to continue with more dramatic vignettes, but at the moment I haven't even tested the water of that genre yet - plus, I personally think the vignettes have run their course. They weren't supposed to have any plot to them, they were just the light- hearted banter bits in between... designed specifically for relief, whether comic or emotional. They've been such a joy to write, but... don't tell anyone, but I've run out of ideas for mere vignettes! And I think you'd all get a bit bored of me if I continued them any further! I going to quit whilst I'm ahead for the first time in my life! Thankyou, Beth, for your ongoing support - it was truly appreciated.  
  
Xena - Another one of the old-school crew... thankyou so much for sticking with me from the beginning - I'm hating this story going as well!  
  
Arwen Granger - This was the last one, I'm afraid... but cheers for reviewing!  
  
Amorous - Another veteren of Vignettes... look to Beth's bit above as to why I am not carrying on. Hopefully you're gonna keep with me - I have some solid gold stories coming up that I am not only chuffed to bits with, but think you'll like! Good guess, though - that Sam was last... I'm sure I've been busted by you before! I love doing fellowship stuff, it's my fave, aside from Aragorn/Legolas friendship, of course. Yeah, I was talking about my unintenional making Legolas' physical attributes extremely handsome without realising it! I've been told off in my Bounty Hunter story about fixating on Han too much... I can't help it - I always go on about the one's I love! Thankyou!!! Also, double-kudos for putting me on your fav. author list!  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - You know, I didn't even think about the Ring when Frodo's in the pool! You are startlingly observant to catch that... so, to save face, I'm going to say... 'Yes, it *was* because it was early in the storyline and the Ring isn't growing on everyone's minds yet' *ahem* And, no - the thing with Legolas' mother is my take on what could have happened to her - I'm all for angst and tragedy, you see. Nothing is acutally written about Legolas' family, I don;t think, except for his father and grandfather... so you can just fill in the gaps! If you're looking for a story with a plot, I have a fellowship one coming up when Legolas takes his friends with him when he finally returns back to Mirkwood 3 years after the War of the Ring. It's all about Legolas' family, prejudices against Dwarven-kind, friendship, and something terrible happens... how's that for a plot?  
  
Rigue Sparrow - I think, when it comes down to it, all my stuff is a little like this. The element of farce! Thankyou for expressing your mirth!  
  
Artemisa - *blush* Thankyou... that was really nice. And there's no need to yell. *grin* Thankyou for pledging your intention of staying with me! Your support from the beginning has always been looked for, cheers again.  
  
Grumpy - Despite your name, you've been really kind in your reviews, and I am thanking you for the on-running support.  
  
Serpent of Light - You're very amusing in your reviews, sometimes you love a chapter and are all excited, other times you sound so sophisticated and experienced. Either way, your rewievs have definately been appreciated, and I am glad you read these stories, however late you joined us!  
  
James8 - Very nice to hear from you, you lurker! I was so pleasantly surprised when you reviewed - I don't think you're terrible at it, your kind review made me grin. Thanks.  
  
Dragonfly32 - And a hello to you too! I am glad you like Legolas/Aragorn antics... They're my favourites, too, and I can't resist putting them in all my stories! Stick with me, there's a Mirkwood friendship story I'm posting pretty darn soon - reckon you'll like it!  
  
Jebb - Again, someone who's read and reviewed from the beginning - thankyou so much. No can do with the sequel, I'm afraid... but other stories will be coming up!  
  
LilyBaggins - Have heard from you a few times and it makes me smile when I spot your reviews... thankyou for your kind reviews.  
  
Sirith - *ahem* PITCHFORKS! *ahem* I am waiting for your post!!!! I don;t think I need to say how greatful I am that you have reviewed... you already know!  
  
Star-Stallion - Double-kudos for putting me on your fav. authors list, and thankyou so very much for reviewing.... hope you stick with me! Unfortunately, that was the end, but I have other stories to come!  
  
Well, that's it... I've loved every minute of writing this story; never has it been a chore. Sad to leave it, but life must go on... and that's it for cliches as well! Thankyou so very much, all of you! Hope to see you again! AlicA x 


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